Master of All
by MiHnn
Summary: When Hermione is asked to look into the recent disasters, her investigation leads her to a certain Malfoy. With the help of Harry and Narcissa, Hermione tries to figure out one simple thing: what is Draco Malfoy's connection to the end of the world?
1. Prologue

**A/N - Written for Apocabigbang challenge on LJ where the requirement is simply one thing: the end of the world.**

**Warning : Please note that this fic deals with certain sensitive issues such as self-mutilation, abuse and violence and should be considered as an R rating.  
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**Disclaimer : I do not own Harry Potter**

**Beta: Thank you to **wildelove**, Mi Hi Lover and mccargi for their wonderful work.  
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><p><strong><span>Prologue<span>  
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It wasn't supposed to be like this.

They were supposed to question him and his family; believe their story of seeking for repentance, give them praise for standing against the Dark Lord and aligning themselves with Potter's childish raid. The Ministry was supposed to be fair and understanding; the opposite of the power hungry menace that threatened the lives of wizards and witches for decades. For Merlin's sake, they were supposed to be grateful. Grateful for the help that his mother provided by declaring the boy-who-lived as dead. Grateful for him not saying that he recognized the pesky Gryffindors who came into the Manor and challenged him loyalty. Yes! The Ministry should be grateful.

On some subconscious level, he might have expected praise. Failing which, a grudging respect or even the neutrality of a passing glare. But not this. Never this.

He never expected to be grabbed by several Aurors the moment the Dark Lord fell; falling to his knees as his hands were wrenched violently behind him, and his wand instantly confiscated by a sneering wizard. He never expected to be dragged mercilessly away from the ruins of his old school only to be forced into side-along-apparition and then thrown into the holding cells within the Ministry. He never expected to be taken into custody along with his parents for the years serving the mad man who they saw fall to his death. He never expected to be denied of a fair trial and simply incarcerated amongst the other Death Eaters - the lower level scum - while they waited for the judgment of the Minister. The Minister, who was out congratulating the fallen troops; tending to the injured and recovering the bodies of the dead. This might have all happened to his surprise, but nothing surprised him more than the look he received from the all too perfect Potter.

He could have said something. Draco _expected _him to say something. He was the boy-who-lived; the boy who cheated death so many bloody times that his mortality should be questioned. Draco knew of what he and his mother had done that ultimately led to the chosen one's precious victory. It was their contribution to the bloody battle, and he didn't even stop the Aurors from grabbing them. He had simply watched, his eyes guarded as he held his best friends, while the person who pretended not to know him when his own life was on the line, was dragged away. At that brief moment their eyes had met and he told Potter in no uncertain terms through the sneer in his face and the utter disgust in his gaze _exactly _what he thought of him.

They were kept in the holding cells for hours. He paced back and forth in agitation along the tiny cell while his father stayed silent, convinced of his own demise by the Dementor's kiss. His mother sat primly while speaking soft words of encouragement and hope, almost as if her own voice might calm her nerves. When they were finally visited by a Ministry official, it was only to receive the news that judgment had been passed. His mother was to be released with her wand snapped and magic prohibited, while he and his father were to occupy Azkaban with all the other supporters who bore the Dark Mark. His imprisonment was to be five years long, while his father had been given a lifelong sentence with no Dementor's kiss. His father had looked at him with hollow eyes then, and he knew that the man he always looked up to preferred death at the hands of the Dark Lord over this pathetic existence. His hope truly dwindled then.

It was the first time he was separated from his family since his father's escape from Azkaban. The irony of serving the next five years behind bars wasn't lost on him. He had gone from being a prisoner of Malfoy Manor, to a prisoner on a remote island; expected to spend his days with the other Death Eaters who ate meals with him and his family.

He was given filthy striped robes before he was shoved unceremoniously into the cell that was to be his home for half a decade. The initial smell of filth and decay did nothing to improve his mood. There was one small widow that let in light, but it was too high to offer any distraction. He could hear the waves as they crashed against the rocks, and smell the distinct scent of the salted ocean, but he would never be able to see it. He was to spend his days watching the dark walls that made up his eight by five foot cell. He briefly wondered if he would go mad within a few months. Maybe that would be better than sanely counting down the days until he was to be released.

The loud slam of the prison door shook him out of his reverie. This was it then. This was his home.

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	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1  
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It always started the same way.

_He was moving slowly, his steps deliberate and light, his movement slow. It felt as if he was walking in water, the invisible current resisting every twitch of his muscles as he moved forward. The darkness engulfed him, only the glow of speckled stars allowed him to see the barren land in front of him. Vaguely he thought they must be stars; even though they were unlike any stars he had ever seen before. He continued his slow journey, unaware of where he was going or why. All he knew was, he was where he was supposed to be and doing exactly what he should be. It took him a while before he realized that he was in the middle of a barren desert. The air was scorching hot and the ground had a number of cracks running through the hardened earth. But every time he took a step, the ground dipped beneath his feet like sand. He continued his journey curiously as the desert expanded before him with every step he took._

_At first there was nothing but an expanding desert with darkness surrounding him. But then a strong gust of wind hit him suddenly, stopping him in his tracks and ruffling the expensive cloak his mother gave him for his sixteenth birthday. Looking down, he noticed that the robes were no longer black, but of a shade of grey. Pansy once mentioned that he should wear grey robes to bring out the colour of his eyes. He had never really taken her seriously, which made him wonder exactly why he had now._

_When he looked back up, he noticed that the landscape looked familiar. It was as if he had previously been there before; maybe when he was a child, maybe in a dream. A jagged rock stood before him that looked eerily like a preface of a rough mountain. It stood tall, magnificently large and more than six feet above him. But beyond the hardened sand there was nothing; only darkness. His eyes wandered over its smooth surface before they landed on the tip in fascination. Somehow, he knew what it was and what it was about to do. He found himself just waiting for it._

_A glimmer of light broke him out of his reverie._

_Looking down at the base of the mountain, he saw the tiniest movement beneath the sand. A grain fell forward, then another, and another, until a tiny silver snake slithered free. The reptile had steel scales that shone brightly under light that seemed to have no source. The snake grew bigger before his eyes, its' scales overlapping with a metallic clink that sounded familiar. It was when the snake slithered towards him and raised its' head in an unmistakable nod, did he recognize the silver cobra with the emerald eyes. He knew he wasn't in danger. He could trust this creature. The snake hissed, its silver tongue almost reaching him. It was telling him something; something he needed to know. But before it could come any closer, the ground started to rumble under his feet. The vibrations that started small grew and grew, until the very sand beneath his feet shook violently._

_The sound of falling sand filled his ears before he felt the sensation of sinking. He immediately tried to fight the hold the sand had on him, but it was too difficult. It kept pulling him down. His feet were buried under the heavy grains, and his ankles felt like they were being pulled down by an invisible force. The snake slithered forward, as if to help in some way, but the closer it got to him, the more the mountain started trembling. A crack appeared at the top of the mountain before the tip cracked off from the force and fell forward, rolling down the preface of the jagged mountain. With every inch it fell, it got bigger, and bigger. He screamed in panic at the coming boulder but no sound was emitting from his throat. He sank deeper, his arms flailing uselessly beside him. He grabbed desperately for the grains of sand, as the one rock rolled down the mountain with excessive speed. It was coming towards him and he was trapped with no way of calling for help. The last thing he saw was the rock landing with a giant thud on the snake, killing it instantly and cracking the emerald eye, before his head was submerged by the sand._

Draco awoke with a jump, sweat on his brow and his heart beating blindly in panic. It took several forceful breaths for his quick, shallow breathing to slow down to some semblance of normalcy. His eyes scanned the darkened cell he inhabited almost suspiciously. It was as if he expected the very foundation he lied on to shake furiously and bury him alive, just like in his dream.

Unlike most of his family, he never believed in omens or superstitions. He spent his life trying to disprove every single Malfoy 'curse' that was out there. Breathing deeply, he ran a trembling hand through his blond hair, and rubbed the back of his neck in an effort to calm his still beating heart. He was no stranger to bad dreams or even nightmares, having lived under the same roof with the very man who threatened the lives of his family. But these dreams were different. One, he could have ignored. Two or three, he could have called it as a passing faze. But, five? And this had been the worst. He hardly woke up remembering the details of the dreams, just the inherent fear he felt while he was experiencing it. But recently, they had become more insistent. And as much as he hated to admit it, it worried him. Was he finally going mad? Did all the other prisoners who went mental while locked up in this place undergo the same dreadful nightmares he seemed to be experiencing?

Sighing, he laid back down on the uncomfortable mattress that stood a foot off the ground on an uncomfortable cot. At first, he had preferred the cool floor to this poor excuse for a bed. But now, his body had finally gotten used to the hard lumps that protruded harshly against his spine and he found himself able to sleep easily. Nevertheless, he kept his eyes wide open and trained his gaze onto that one lone window where a sliver of silver moonlight came through. He knew that whatever happens, he was not going to give in to sleep, give in to these disturbing dreams.

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><p>Draco sat silently as he waited for his usual visitor. Just like every other second Friday of the month, he was shoved roughly into a small room that was big enough to hold a small wooden table with a wooden chair on either side. All three items spelled to the floor and as a result, immovable. He welcomed these visits. The light always seemed unusually bright compared to the dark cell he inhabited, the white walls hurt his eyes with its emptiness, and even the chairs seemed unfit for human use. But still, he preferred the one hour away from the darkened hell hole and looked forward to his only contact with another human being.<p>

He stood up when the door opened and his visitor entered hurriedly, accompanied by an Auror as per regulation.

"Draco," his mother breathed out in relief before she rushed to his side and threw her arms around him in a familiar embrace. He fell into her, unable to raise his own arms to hug her due to the shackles that were around his wrists.

She immediately took a step back to inspect him, her hands travelling down his arms and chest before she grasped his face gently and scrutinized his features. "They didn't hurt you again, did they?"

He shook his head, amused, despite the topic of conversation. "No. Not since that one time." He quickly glanced at the Auror who stood guarding this meeting. "There are new residents now, better…distractions."

His mother smiled sadly, her eyes sparking with relief. "Good," she mumbled softly as she ran her hands lightly through his grimy hair. "Good."

Draco felt the urge to lean into her embrace as he always did when he was a child; instead he took a step back and faced the Auror who still stood intimidatingly before the only exit from the room.

Following his gaze, Narcissa folded her hands before her and faced the guard primly. "May I have a moment alone with my son, please?"

Besides raising a mocking eyebrow at her, the man did not move an inch.

"It's fine, Mother," Draco said soothingly before he took his usual seat. "I'm sure he's not paying any attention to us." He glared at the Auror, who didn't waste time glaring back.

Narcissa smiled lightly as she took the seat opposite him. "I see you are getting your sense of humour back."

"I don't think I ever had one," Draco mumbled dryly.

She smiled sadly at him before she looked at him in worry. "How are you? Are you eating?"

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. Some things never change, no matter the circumstances. "As much as they give me," he mumbled vaguely. He decided long ago that it was better to pretend he got edible food than telling his mother the truth and watch her start a rampage against the Ministry. She had good intentions, but she lacked the prowess of receiving desired results.

"You look thin. I don't think you're eating enough. Maybe I could ask the guard if-"

"Mother!" Draco interrupted a tad bit harshly. "I assure you, I get fed very well." He couldn't resist throwing a passing glace onto their uninvited guest and noticed the tiny smirk the Auror made no effort to hide. The behaviour of these imbeciles boiled his blood, but he forced himself to stay calm and focus his attention on something more important: making sure his mother didn't see exactly what he was going through.

She smiled half-heartedly, and he felt the guilt at snapping at her rise within him. "I just worry sometimes. You and your father are here, and I am..." she trailed off, her eyes brimming with tears.

He had known her never to cry. Throughout the sixteen years he lived with his family, his mother had never shed a tear, at least never in front of him. He couldn't help but marvel at the change they have all undergone within the span of nearly three years. "How is Aunt Andromeda?" he asked quickly, hoping the question to be a sufficient distraction. After the great battle, his mother's estranged sister offered up a helping hand which his mother reluctantly accepted. Narcissa still didn't approve of her sister's choice of life and husband, and she still haven't agreed to stay in the same room with her nephew, but she did meet Andromeda on a regular basis and they were slowly but surely building their relationship from the rubble that it once was. After all, his mother had always told him that blood was the most important thing. It made sense that she would seek out the only family she had when her own was taken away from her.

"She asks about you and Lucius all the time," Narcissa said smiling genuinely. "She's just as worried. She's even..." His mother hesitated for a moment, her gaze meeting his cautiously.

"She's what?" he asked her curiously.

"She's even helping me get through this," Narcissa said quickly, almost as is if she was substituting her intended words. It didn't take the years of knowledge he had on her to know she was lying through that one sentence. "It hasn't been easy, Draco. Every time I step foot out of the Manor, I get looks. Glares. Most of our acquaintances that we used to be socially active with are now either abroad or in hiding. I truly have no one. Why, just last week I wanted to go have lunch just to cheer myself up and Pennington's refused to serve me. Can you imagine that? Your father and I used to go there every year for our anniversary. They have absolutely no loyalty."

"Mother," Draco interrupted carefully. "Not that I don't find the topic of restaurants fascinating, but what about the hearing?"

His mother stared at him in surprise. "What hearing?"

"The hearing you spoke about last month," Draco said slowly through gritted teeth. "And the month before that. And the month before that." He was truly losing his patience.

Narcissa continued to stare at him, almost unseeingly. It was then that he realized that she had avoided the topic of his one possible hope on purpose.

"What is it?" he asked gently. "Did you find out if it is possible to transfer me?"

His mother smiled sadly. "I'm sorry, Draco."

His heart plummeted. This was his only hope; and now he didn't even have that. "What happened?"

Shaking her head, Narcissa rubbed at her eyes with delicate fingers, probably to stop the tears from cascading down her cheeks. "Do you remember I told you about your Father's cousin?" She waited for his nod of confirmation before she continued. "Cyrus was never one of your father's favourite people, but he could always be counted on to help family. He was working on transferring you to the French Ministry for Magic so that you could be under his charge. He was pushing to have a hearing to decide on your lineage. He thought he found a way to get you into French custody. That way, he could ensure your freedom. But..."

"But what?" he asked in confusion. His mother was obviously not telling him something that probably could or even already has changed his fate.

"Do you know what's been happening lately?"

Draco eyed her in confusion, surprised by the sudden change of topic. "What has been happening lately?"

"The hurricanes, floods, typhoons..." She looked at him expectantly.

Draco simply shook his head. "What hurricanes?"

His mother leaned forward earnestly. "Draco, has no one told you? There have been countless disasters all over the world."

"Alright, there are disasters," he shrugged. "What I don't get is what this has to do with the hearing."

Narcissa stayed silent for a moment as if trying to contemplate the best way to tell him bad news. "Last week, France experienced rain for six days and nights. There were floods Draco; horrible floods all over the north of France. Normandy, specifically. And your uncle Cyrus was unfortunately one of the casualties."

Draco stared at her disbelievingly for a moment before the gravity of what she had just told him hit. "You mean," he hissed slowly, "the only person who could have released me from this doomed death-hole is dead?"

His mother instantly reached for him with an intention of comforting him. "Draco."

But he jumped up from his seat and moved away from her. He barely noticed the Auror immediately take a step towards him in anticipation. "I'm stuck here?" he snapped in disbelief before he turned to face his mother in accusation. "You told me you had a plan. You told me, you would get me out."

"And I will," his mother said confidently even as she stood up to face him on even ground. "Just give me some time."

"Time?" he scoffed. "All I have ever given is time. All I have left is time."

"Draco," his mother said authoritatively, "I am doing what I can."

"You're doing nothing. I have waited for months. _Months_. Only to find out that the one hope I had is gone."

"Then you are better off than your father. He has no hope. I can't even get him a reduced sentence. But for you, I can."

"And do you have a plan, _Mother_?" he asked sarcastically.

Narcissa hesitated a moment before she nodded. "Andromeda does. She agreed to ask Potter to testify on your behalf."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "I am not asking that bloody prick for anything."

His mother chose to ignore his use of language. "You need this."

"I bloody well don't," he snapped, more out of pride than anything else.

"You will accept his help," she said snapping at him loudly. Her eyes widened in surprise at her own outburst before she quickly glanced at the Auror to see his reaction. Draco curbed his tongue, knowing that if he said anything to his mother about her need to be so prim and proper, the real issue would never be addressed. And regardless of her high society antics, he rather fancied being free of this place.

"He could have said something before."

"Stop acting like a spoilt child, Draco," his mother reprimanded as she moved towards him. "Andromeda agreed to get Potter to help. Who could refuse the one person who defeated the Dark Lord? If he asks for your release, they'll grant it."

She had a point that he didn't want to admit. "We're not sure about that," he mumbled moodily.

"No. But we can hope." She stepped forward and grabbed his arm comfortingly. "I will speak to him if I have to. If anyone can get you out, it's him."

"Helped by Potter," Draco muttered, "he'll never let me live that down."

Narcissa smiled in amusement. "Sometimes, pride is not the most important thing. You should know that better than anyone." Taking a step forward, she grabbed his arm lightly. "Tell me, have the dreams stopped?"

His eyes quickly darted to the Auror who had gone back to standing stiffly as if he was ignoring their conversation. He intended no one to ever know. He knew that they would enjoy any given chance to send him on a one way trip to St. Mungos. Azkaban, he could get out of, but not a secluded ward where your own sanity is called into question.

His mother looked over her shoulder briefly before she turned back to him and took a step closer, dropping her voice to nearly a whisper. "You had another one?"

Draco nodded reluctantly, knowing what his mother would say next.

"What was it this time?" she asked carefully.

"I think..." he said carefully, "it was a rock. A rock killed a snake."

"A rock?" she asked, taken aback. "And what type of snake was this."

"I don't see why that matters."

Her eyes scrutinized him. "It obviously matters enough for you to not tell me."

With a tired sigh, Draco decided to give in to his mother's delusions. "It was a silver snake."

"A silver snake?" she muttered thoughtfully.

"With emerald eyes."

That immediately got her attention. "Just like your father's staff?"

He knew he shouldn't have said anything. "It was a dream. It makes sense that I dreamed of things that I have seen. Including Father's staff."

"No, Draco. This is important. Was there anything else that was different?"

He shook his head, keen on moving on from this topic of conversation. "No."

His mother looked at him thoughtfully, probably trying to decide if he was keeping something from her. "What about the-"

"It's time." The commanding voice of the Auror interrupted her.

Narcissa looked over at the guard with an exasperated sigh before she embraced him. "I will see you soon."

He couldn't help but scoff into her shoulder. 'Soon' was a dictated term. "Keep safe."

She released him before she affectionately ran her hands through his hair, her fingers moving the platinum blond strands away from his eyes. "You too." With a last sad smile, his mother held herself up elegantly, the way she always did just before she attended a grand ball, and headed towards the Auror. "I'm ready," she said curtly with an impatient nod. The Auror opened the door almost reluctantly and waited until she passed before following her. Draco couldn't help but smirk at his mother's antics. Even when they were the lepers of society, she somehow managed to ensure that she was perceived as a lady of high society.

The entrance of the two Aurors to accompany him back to his cell turned his smirk to a habitual sneer. He really hoped Potter was his salvation. At this point, he didn't care about the wanker. All he wanted was his freedom.

_**TBC**_


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2  
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Hermione Granger was by no means late, but she rushed anyway. The moment her best friend had asked her to meet him, she had immediately felt dread. Dread for what he was about to tell her, dread that even though they knew the war had ended, it really hadn't. Honestly, she should be used to it by now. Being Harry Potter's best friend did come with its fair share of apprehension.

She entered the Ministry for Magic almost at a run, even though mentally she was reciting the mantra that she was panicking for no reason. Harry had seemed perfectly calm when she spoke to him earlier. There was no slight elevation in his voice to hint that he was lying, and he had even cracked a joke or two and smiled. Why on earth would he have been so at ease if he had dire news to tell her? The sensible thing was to take her time and head towards his office; instead, she moved as quickly as possible, nodding quick greetings with the co-workers she passed.

The moment she got into the elevator and pressed the button that would lead her to her office floor, she finally let out a low breath that she wasn't aware she had been holding. Maybe he was going to tell her something confident but not necessarily important, if that made any sense. Maybe it was something pertaining to the rogue Death Eaters they had been tracking the past month, those who had somehow managed to slip under the watch of the Ministry and were currently on the run. Maybe the information was so delicate that they had to move fast and he needed her to stop her well-deserved vacation to foresee the operation. But then, he didn't mention anything about her coming back to work. He did vaguely say something about having a job for her, though.

By the time the elevator doors opened and she stepped out onto the intended floor, Hermione's stomach was in knots. Her mind had travelled in warp speed thinking about every single possible scenario and she was just about to burst if her curiosity wasn't satisfied immediately.

She found Harry as she always did, with his form hunched over a desk piled high with documents. She didn't bother knocking and instead marched right in and took a seat right opposite him. "Hi, Harry."

Harry jumped slightly before his eyes landed on her. "Hi, Hermione."

Hermione smiled at her friend's startled jump; served him right for making her worry. "What was so important that you couldn't give me the details over a simple floo call?"

Harry squinted at her slightly before he grinned almost wickedly. "Did you rush here?"

"No," she scoffed. But his knowing smile caused her to narrow her eyes at him in mock anger. "You said it was an emergency."

"No," Harry said slowly. "I said it _could_be an emergency."

Hermione glared at him. "Harry, I swear. If you laugh, I'm getting up and leaving here right this minute."

With great difficulty her best friend stopped mid-laughter. "Alright, since you're here." Lifting his wand, he called for a file from his filing cabinet that landed cleanly into the palm of his hand. "This is not about the other Death Eaters."

"Oh?" Hermione sat straight upright, suddenly curious since she hadn't thought of any other possible scenario.

"There might be a chance that the disasters are connected."

"All of them?"

Harry shrugged before he handed over the file. Hermione took it carefully, before leafing through the contents. "These are articles about them." She looked up at him in confusion.

Harry placed his forearms on the desk and leaned forward. "I need you to show them to someone, and see if they notice anything familiar or out of the ordinary."

"Who?"

Harry hesitated for a moment, before he spoke, wincing as he said the name. "Malfoy."

"Malfoy?" Hermione asked in confusion. "_Draco_Malfoy?"

Harry simply grinned at her sheepishly

"Harry..." She shook her head, every single thought landing on the same conclusion. There was no way she was going to talk to him willingly. "What does Malfoy have to do with any of this?"

"Apparently, he has been having dreams that correspond with each and every disaster since they started happening."

"That's not unusual."

"Normally, no. But the dreams have been almost like a forecast. The things he dreamed came true."

"How do you even know this?"

"Andromeda told me."

It took Hermione a moment to make the connection. "She and Narcissa are back on talking terms then?"

"Barely." Harry shrugged. "But it doesn't hurt to check on this, right?"

"Fine. I admit that it does seem weird. Even in the Wizarding world to foresee a disaster unless you're a seer-"

"-especially every single disaster that has happened around the world," Harry piped in.

"But still, why can't you do it?"

"I would love to," he mumbled sarcastically. "But we need to get this done soon, and Kingsley needs me to check out East Asia. He still says that priority is for those who escaped the Ministry, not the disasters. And I'm leaving tonight."

"Then why are you looking into this?"

"Andromeda asked me to."

"Harry," she reprimanded.

"I know. But Hermione, all you have to do is go to Azkaban and interview Malfoy."

Hermione stared dumbly for a moment before she let out a nervous laugh. "You're joking, right? This is not as easy as you're trying to make it out to be."

Harry looked back at her sympathetically. "I wish I was joking."

"There's no wish," she said desperately. "You can just forget about this."

"I can't. Andromeda asked me. And I... sort of owe her."

"You're asking me to sit down with Malfoy. That sounds impossible to me."

"Not really." He shook his head. "You just have to take his statement."

"Harry," Hermione began in her best rational tone, "think about what you're asking me to do. You're asking me to give up my paid vacation so that I could go to a Death Eater infested prison and meet the one person who has hated me since the first time he found out I wasn't a pure-blood."

"I don't think he's going to be thinking about your blood status."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You want to bet?"

Harry let out a low sigh. "It's not like I can send Ron," he said meaningfully.

"I wasn't thinking about Ron," she said thoughtfully. "What about Seamus?"

"You know he's busy with the Egypt disaster."

"Dean's free."

"I just put him on the France job."

"Neville?"

"He's dropping the Auror programme to go into herbology, remember?" Harry smiled at her hopefully. "You're the best person for this job."

"How in Merlin's name did you come to that conclusion?"

"Simple," her best friend said with a shrug. "You're the only other person who can put him in his place." She opened her mouth to retort, but he beat her to it. "I can't say no to a Minister's request, and Ron will hex him before he even speaks his first sentence. Trust me, it has to be you."

"Is this because I punched him in third year?" she asked in mock insult.

Harry grinned at the memory. "It's your own fault, Hermione. If you weren't so insistent on doing things your own way and doing them well, I would have treated you like a Damsel in Distress from the get go."

A smile fought its way to the surface. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr Potter."

"I'm looking at facts more than flattery," Harry said seriously. "Besides," he said grinning, "I think it's working."

"Serves me right for trying to protect you from the big, bad, evil Dark Lord." Hermione sighed, knowing that she was agreeing to this disastrous assignment despite her misgivings. "This doesn't mean I'm going to enjoy it."

"Definitely not," Harry said dryly. "The one thing I don't expect is Malfoy to have changed."

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><p>Hermione did everything that she could think of to prolong meeting her childhood irritator. But no matter what she did, she ended up right where she was supposed to be when the time came. Needless to say, the expression on Malfoy's face the moment she entered the meeting room was almost worth having this assignment. <em>Almost<em>.

"Malfoy," she began curtly before she took a seat opposite him.

The moments he spent staring at her with a mixture of disbelief and disgust gave Hermione the perfect opening to study him with her own cold exterior. He didn't look good. Azkaban had not been good to him, anyone could see that. Usually a tall, lanky individual, Malfoy now sat almost a skeleton in front of her. His eyes had sunken in, allowing the dark circles above his cheeks to show contrastingly against his pale skin. When in school, she had always thought that he couldn't get paler if he tried. Apparently, she was wrong. Keeping him away from the sun almost had the added effect of making him look sickly pale, even though his eyes still had that fire in them. And in some unusual way, she was glad to see it.

"Granger," he said with a sneer.

Hermione smiled then, glad to see that he had some bite left in him, which only caused Malfoy's gaze to narrow suspiciously at her. As much as she was for putting Death Eaters in Azkaban, having known Malfoy for most of her life made her thankful that Azkaban hadn't broken him, at least, not yet.

"For what do I owe this displeasure?"

Hermione bit her tongue to stop an automatic insult from leaving her lips. She knew this wasn't going to be easy. She had to be the bigger person. "Harry sent me."

His demeanour instantly changed. "Potter?" he spat. "And why is it that the Boy-Who-Lived chose to send his bushy-haired accomplice instead of showing his scar-head face here?" He leaned forward with a sneer. "Is he scared?"

Hermione fought the urge to touch her curls self-consciously. "Harry has to deal with an issue in Hong Kong. He asked me to speak to you."

"Well, isn't he the avid globe trotter."

"Yes, well." She cleared her throat before she rummaged through the bag she brought with her. Malfoy stared almost curiously as she took out a piece of parchment and a quill.

"What do you want first, the order for my lunch or dinner?"

Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Actually, I want a statement."

"Brilliant. Planning on publishing my life story, are you?"

"Despite what you think, your life story is not that interesting, Malfoy."

"I don't know about that," he said with a light shrug. "Living with the Dark Lord gave us a few insights. Do you want to know the bathroom schedule?"

Hermione sighed, already tired after meeting with him only for five minutes. "You're not going to make this easy, are you?" She took his silent glare as an affirmative. "Alright, then." She cleared her throat and took the quill in her hand. "Let's begin with the first dream." She looked at him expectantly.

Malfoy stared at her. "First what?"

"Dream," Hermione said automatically. "I heard that the first dream happened..." she pulled out a notebook and glanced at a few pages before her eyes landed on the information she was seeking, "...nine weeks ago." When she looked up again, Malfoy had a murderous glare trained towards her.

"Why are you here?" His voice was slow and controlled, but she could sense an underlying tone of foreboding.

Hermione hesitated for a moment. "To take your statement on your recurring dreams."

Immediately she realized, she might have said the wrong thing. Before, while he had been only slightly hostile and insulting, now she realized that he was simply angry. She could practically see his rage in the way his eyes narrowed at her, and he glared almost unforgivably. "You're not here to free me," he said slowly, his tone slow and deliberate.

Part of her was hesitant to tell him the truth. "What made you think I was?"

"My mother," he sneered. "She told me that she was going to get Potter to help me. And I was told that he agreed."

Hermione looked at him in confusion. "How is Harry supposed to help you?"

"Do I look like I bloody know?" Hermione winced. She had never been a fan of swearing, especially when it was accompanied by a tone with that level of anger. "Potter is supposed to be the do-gooder he always has been and speak to the Ministry about my conduct. He is supposed to get me a hearing."

"Malfoy," Hermione said soothingly. "Harry has already spoken to the Ministry. Everyone who has the Dark Mark was given a minimum ten years of mandatory incarceration in Azkaban, you got five years. Didn't you ever wonder why that was? Harry spoke to the Aurors, to the Minister himself and told him about what happened at the Manor. And what happened with Dumbledore," she finished softly. For the first time since she entered the room, the fire in Malfoy's eyes dulled slightly.

"Then why am I still here?" he asked softly, almost as if he was dreading the answer.

"The Ministry believed that your actions during sixth year - fixing the vanishing cabinet, letting Death Eaters penetrate the wards of Hogwarts and killing innocent people - deserved some time behind bars." Malfoy looked away, and part of her understood that he had spent his time in Azkaban trying to forget that night. "And the fact that Voldemort stayed at the Manor while he was still wanted by the Ministry didn't help matters either," she continued softly, ignoring his automatic wince at hearing the forbidden name.

"I'm not stupid, Granger. I know I deserve this," he muttered softly. "But I think I've paid my dues. I might have fixed the vanishing cabinet, but I never killed anyone. And the Dark Lord wasn't exactly an invited guest." Malfoy drifted off thoughtfully.

Hermione stayed silent, unwilling to break this almost calm that had settled between them. She had a job to do, and she had a limited amount of time to do it. "I need to know about your dreams, Malfoy."

He looked at her then, and for some reason, she could see defeat in his eyes. "How do you know about them?"

"Andromeda told Harry. I'm assuming that it was-"

"My mother."

She smiled slightly in encouragement. "Yes."

"My mother is a superstitious fool, Granger. She makes things bigger than what they are. You're wasting your time."

Hermione really wanted to take his words at face value and leave. But she had made a promise to her best friend, and her own curiosity won over her need to avoid this conversation. "I just need to know the details. That is all."

"I can barely remember them," he scoffed.

"Andromeda said you did," she said in retaliation.

Malfoy squinted at her, his gaze suspicious. "And what is so great about my dreams? Potter trying to thicken up his dream book?"

"For reasons unknown, you seem to be exhibiting the signs of a seer."

He scoffed then. "Okay, Granger. If you say so."

"If you tell me your dreams, I promise to leave you alone for the rest of your life."

Malfoy barely hesitated before a wide grin split his face. "Let's get started then."

Hermione sighed before she picked up her quill. This was going to be a long day.

_**TBC**_

**A/N - As great as it is to see so many people favourite this, feel free to leave a review and let me know what you think. Even though this story is completed, I'm currently tweaking it before posting new chapters. So I really appreciate any constructive feedback :)**_**  
><strong>_


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3  
><strong>

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Hermione straightened her back in an attempt to unhinge the knotted muscles that ached from being in a seated position for too many hours. She couldn't help but send a glare towards the man who sat opposite her. How in Merlin's name did he have that straight backed posture after staying in such a dreary place for so long? Usually, prisoners were hunched from the lack of movement and a good chair to sit on as well as a good bed to sleep on. But not a Malfoy, apparently. His posture was something she would never admit that she envied, simply because it was the result of a high class society that practiced racial profiling. She also couldn't help but notice that during the three hours they sat talking to each other, the bane of her existence hadn't shifted once. All movement was confined to his mouth, which sneered occasionally, and his eyebrows, which gave her the impression that he was silently mocking her. On the other hand, she had shifted in her seat restlessly throughout the whole interview. The wooden chairs were highly uncomfortable and not made for human habitation. She was convinced that in some ancient society it was probably used as a torture device for children who hadn't completed their homework.

"Alright," Hermione mumbled tiredly, "I think that is everything I need." She flipped through the countless pages until she reached the first set of questions. "I just need to go through it one more time."

Any other person would have groaned out loud. But Malfoy simply raised a thin blond eyebrow in question while giving her a blank stare. If he was intending to make her uncomfortable, he was succeeding.

Hermione shifted in her seat again as she kept her eyes on her notes and away from his steely gaze. "On the fourteenth of the previous month - a month after your incarceration - you experienced your first dream, correct?"

"Yes," he muttered in a bored tone.

"And the content of the dream was?"

"Have you actually been taking notes all this time, Granger? Last time I checked, I gave you the information and it is your job to remember. I'm not in the habit of repeating myself."

"I guessed you wouldn't be," Hermione said primly as she crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. "I'm supposed to get an accurate account of your dreams and that is exactly what I'm going to do." She grinned mockingly at him. "I'm not leaving without it."

"You'll have a long wait then," he sneered.

"Fine," she shrugged, adamant on calling his bluff. "I'll wait."

They sat staring at each other in silence, Hermione's features showing her utter displeasure while Malfoy simply smirked at her in good humour. Part of her wondered if he was usually this moody before he was shoved into a five year prison sentence in Azkaban.

"Tell me, Granger," he began conversationally, and for the first time he actually leaned back against the uncomfortable chair, "you and Weaslebee finally hitched?"

If there was any question she was not prepared for, it was that one. "I don't see why that is any of your business, Malfoy," she sniffed hautily.

He narrowed his eyes at her almost in a calculating manner. "You and Potter then?"

For this question, she couldn't help but scoff her reply, still determined to not give him any leeway. Throughout the interview he had given her short, clipped answers. If she wanted details, she had to ask the right questions and hope he would give her the right answers. It took a while, but she finally understood that he took her questions literally - most probably just to annoy her - so she rephrased her questions to ensure that he had no choice but to answer her with the information she needed. Things had moved much quicker that way. And for making her job difficult, she was determined to make sure that she dished out as much as she had taken.

"I always knew it would be one or the other," Malfoy continued snidely. "You never did have enough ambition to see beyond that little circle of yours."

She decided to ignore that little quip of his. "Tell me, Malfoy," she started mockingly, repeating the sentiment he had told her earlier, "Would you like to go back to your old cell?" His cocky expression immediately faltered before his eyes narrowed at her with a look so pure of loathing, she was almost taken aback. But she pressed on, determined to have the last say. "Harry told me that Andromeda begged him to get you transferred. Which is why you are no longer guarded my Dementors, but by ordinary Aurors, who _don't _feed on your despair so strongly that you wish for death."

"What are you getting at?" he asked, his voice slow and measured.

Hermione let out an innocent smile, knowing full well that she had finally gotten his attention. "How long were you there for? A few days?"

His lips pursed shut, almost as if the very memory was something that clawed deeply within him. "A week," he muttered under his breath, his back slouching for the first time in hours. He raised his gaze slowly to meet hers, his eyes as hard as granite. "Planning to send me back, Granger?"

The raw tone in his voice made her pause. She had planned to use the empty threat to illicit proper answers from him. But she found herself reluctant to do so. She could never be so heartless; especially to someone who wore a strong facade but was surely suffering inside. "No," she said softly as she shook her head. "But you have to understand that you are in a better position than most." She looked at him seriously, trying to convey in not many words exactly how lucky he was. "Most Death Eaters were given the Kiss, others..." She stopped.

Malfoy looked away, his demeanour changing once more to mild curiosity. "How's my father?"

She stared at him in surprise, immediately regretting bringing up the topic of other Death Eaters. The fact that he couldn't look her in the eyes was the perfect tell that he cared about the answer, even if he didn't look like he did.

Hermione decided to be cautious in her wording, unsure of what he already knew. "Doesn't your mother tell you anything about him?"

Malfoy looked at her scathingly, his tone bitter. "Granger, my mother doesn't even know that he's alive."

Taken aback, she stopped herself from fiddling with her notes as she always did when she was nervous or about to lie. "I'm sure he's fine."

Cool grey eyes studied her carefully. "Fine," he repeated. "He's _fine_."

She winced, knowing full well that this was the reason she decided not to be an Auror. She was too bad a liar.

Malfoy leaned forward slowly, a sneer across his face. "I was in that block for nearly seven days, and _I_ was _not fine_. I can't imagine that my father, having been there before, is better off."

"Your father is a convicted criminal."

"So am I."

Hermione shook her head. "The charges against you were minimalized thanks to Harry." She ignored the snort of disbelief that Malfoy let out in a not so dignified manner. "You have to be thankful to him, Malfoy."

"Of course I have to be," Malfoy said sarcastically. "Saint Potter doing what's best for everyone all the time. What a martyr! "

Hermione's lips pursed in a barely hidden effort not to jump to the defence of her best friend. It was obvious that Malfoy was trying to distract her from her line of questioning. And honestly, she was getting tired of it. "I don't see why you choose to focus on Harry when you can simply answer my questions and finish up our meeting as soon as possible."

The lecherous smirk that split his lips was most unbecoming. "And why would I want to finish our meeting as soon as possible?"

The question threw her. Was he not looking forward to some time _away_ from her?

At her incredulous expression, Malfoy's smirk widened. "The moment you leave, they will cart me right back to my cell. And as much as I'm a lover of cold, black stone and barely enough room to move, I find those cells particularly dry this time of year." He leaned towards her again, his demeanour self-imposing. "Honestly, Granger, for the smartest witch, you're unusually daft. I don't want to go back to my cell, even at the expense of suffering your company for a few hours longer."

"A few hours?" Hermione sputtered, outraged. "First you couldn't wait to get rid of me, and now you're actually infringing on my investigation just to make sure that you stay here _longer_?"

His only response was to raise a perfectly mocking eyebrow, which only succeeded to enrage her further.

Glaring venomously at him, she stood up quickly, practically knocking the ink bottle that teetered dangerously near her copious notes. "I don't have time for this," she snapped as she collected her parchment and put them in the satchel she had brought full of stationary items. "If you want to play these games to amuse yourself while you're in here, be my guest. But I won't allow you to waste my time on these idiotic activities of yours." In a right huff, Hermione grabbed her satchel, threw it over her shoulder roughly and turned around ready to leave. She had just taken a few steps, when he spoke.

"I lied."

Two words; and yet they held all the dread within them. Pausing, she looked over her shoulder at him suspiciously. "What?" Her tone was sharp, short, and made it apparent that she wasn't in the mood for any nonsense.

It figures that Malfoy wouldn't care two hoots. "I lied," he repeated, more confidently the second time.

At that moment, Hermione felt the urge to reach for her wand and hex him to oblivion. It was a pity that they took it for safe keeping before she entered the Meeting Room. Finally she understood the reason for them to ask her to part from her wand. It wasn't so they could ensure that Malfoy wouldn't get hold of a weapon, it was so that she wouldn't follow her basic instinct and _Crucio_ him.

"And what," she said slowly through gritted teeth, "did you lie about?"

He looked at her with a blank expression, almost as if he didn't understand her question before he said calmly, "Everything."

Later, she would surmise that the only reason she didn't lunge across the table and throttle that pale neck of his was because an Auror stood guard. She knew the talk around in the wizarding world. Women were meant to marry, not take up political or Auror posts. Women were too emotional. They were unreliable at times of trial. They were not cool-headed and logical like men. But she was not like all the other pure-blooded women who held their place. And she wasn't going to let a childish prat get her thrown out for attempting to murder an inmate; and murder was the primary action she had in mind.

"You..." she stopped, her fingers flexing in muscle memory of the recent vine wood she had managed to get. "Mal.." She couldn't even say it. She couldn't even say his name. She was so enraged, every muscled coiled tightly in anger, that she couldn't even fathom what it all meant.

"Give my mother visitation rights to see my father," Malfoy stated coldly, his tone dictating. "And give her the clearance to visit me whenever she wants. Then, and only then, will I tell you everything."

She stared at him incredulously. "You're _blackmailing_ me?"

"I don't know if your little brain noticed under that insanely bushy hair of yours, but during our first year _I_ was sorted into Slytherin." His lips widened with a confident sneer. "That was no mistake."

Hermione stared at him for a moment, feeling her anger dissipate with every new logical thought that swirled in her mind. "You're forgetting that with one word I can have you back in with the Dementors," she threatened coldly.

But her statement did not have the desired effect. Instead of the younger Malfoy cowering in fear and stating his willingness to do as asked; he simply looked at her, calling her on her bluff. "But you won't, will you?"

"And what makes you think I won't?" she questioned immediately, part of hoping that she will follow the threat she was giving.

"Granger," Malfoy began in an annoyingly calm lecturing tone, "are you really willing to place someone in with the Dementors? Especially someone who - according to the very government you work for, has stated in their previous rulings that only a murderer or someone proved of high treason should endure? Besides, are you willing to risk what the Dementors would do to my mind over a little tiff?"

"This is far from a little tiff, Malfoy."

"Maybe. But it is also the truth. You need my mind as it is. Dementors would only make it harder for you to get what you want."

She scrutinized him carefully, wondering if anything would ever make him less devious than what he already was. "You're playing with people's lives, Malfoy. I'm not here to have a little chat. I'm here because for some unknown reason, you could have an answer to save lives. You're being selfish with what you know."

"You see it as selfishness, while I see it as self-preservation." His eyes narrowed carefully at her. "My demands are reasonable. Let my mother see my father one last time, and give her free visitation rights to see me. Honestly Granger, if anyone could hear you right now, they would accuse you of not having a heart."

Somehow, that last bit was what got to her. She was known for her compassion. And even though, deep down, she knew that he had no basis for such an observation, she couldn't help but think that he knew exactly what to say and what to promise to get her to agree with him. That very thought vexed her further. The thought of Malfoy being able to control her like a puppeteer was both laughable and terrifying. Laughable because she was a grown woman in charge of her own actions, and terrifying because it somehow transported her to her twelve year old self in Hogwarts when all she wanted to do was prove herself.

"I don't care if others think I have no heart," she said coolly, enjoying the fact that her statement had the desired effect of lessening his smirk, even for a bit. "If you're not going to give me your memories willingly, then I will have no choice but to take them by force."

When Malfoy spoke again, his voice was unusually soft, and slightly shaky. "Veriterserum."

Hermione nodded curtly, before she turned on her heel and prepared to walk towards the exit one more time. "You made your choice, Malfoy."

The guard was just opening the door and stepping aside to let her through, when he called for her. "Granger."

Against her better judgement, she turned to face him. He looked at her with an expression of slight panic and sadness. It was the most honest she had seen his features. "My mother just needs to see him."

Hermione bit her lip thoughtfully, fighting the impulse to promise him something she knew she shouldn't simply because her very nature wanted her to. "I'm sorry, Malfoy," she said softly. "But it's kinder if she doesn't." Without waiting for a response, she nodded to the guard in a silent 'thank you' and exited the Meeting Room.

As she stepped out of the room, her eyes met his. And for a brief moment she could read his thoughts; she could see right through those cool grey eyes just before the guard stepped forward and shut the door behind him. He knew! He knew what state his father was in. And Hermione was sure that he was probably haunted by that very thought.

_**TBC**_


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N -Warning : This chapter is graphic in its depiction of self-inflicted violence.**

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><p><strong><span>Chapter 4<span>  
><strong>

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It wasn't long after Granger left that Draco was once again dragged by two Aurors as they led him - none too gently- to his cell. As was customary in that dark and dreary hole, one guard yanked open the cell door while they both pushed him roughly into his cell. Draco staggered, losing his footing before straightening up to hear the cell door slam closed behind him. With quiet snickers, the guards left him to his own devices.

Out of pure habit, he looked up to see that one window that was always so very far away. The evening had approached fairly quickly; the atmosphere becoming dark, dank and cold. He had hoped, or rather wanted very much to keep sparring with the most unlikeliest interviewer he had ever hoped to receive. The moment Granger had walked through that door, he had felt hope. It was brief and fleeting, but it was there. She was the righteous one out of the three; annoyingly so. Potter wouldn't have given him the thought of day if it wasn't the 'right thing to do'. But not Granger. Her moral centre was her everything. And he found himself becoming insanely disappointed with every passing minute when he realized that the one person who he was sure wouldn't let him rot in Azkaban due to pure _principle_, was simply there to interview him, and not anything else. The very thought of returning here had caused him to lie to her, make her return to hear his true story.

Part of him wondered if his actions would even bring her back. Her presence reminded him of so much. It reminded him of the time when his left forearm wasn't inked with a fading scar, a time where all he had to worry about was the next jink he would send Potter's way or the next insult he was going to hurl to any passing Gryffindor. He wanted her back because she reminded him of his carefree days in Hogwarts; of who he used to be. He missed it so much that it ached within him; his lost childhood and his lost opportunities. Granger was the presence he needed to remember his old self.

Draco suddenly felt a gust of chilling wind as it burst through the stone halls of Azkaban. That happened sometimes, on an occasionally freezing night. It somehow gave the illusion that there was an exit nearby, a doorway that could let wind in, and allow anyone out. He hated that illusion.

Looking up once again to that small window high up in his cell, Draco started to feel the first feeling of restless fatigue. It had been difficult, sitting on that chair for several hours spouting out nonsense. He felt his eyes begin to droop tiredly and knew he had to act fast. Looking over his shoulder to ensure that no Auror was currently walking the dark halls, he made his way over to the lumpy straw mattress on the floor. Bending down, he lifted the sorry excuse for a bed, and picked up a sharpened stone. The mineral was a curious thing. He had found it lying close to the cell door on the dull stones of the hallway. Reaching out one long, pale arm, he nicked it before any guards to see, wanting to examine this marvel; this stone that was shaped so differently from all the other stones that he had seen. Having been in this cell for several months made him privy to every stone; its shape, its touch, and its texture. He would have remembered a stone that had a rounded tip and a jagged edge. He hadn't discovered its true merits until a few weeks ago.

Nights like this, he knew that he would have that same dream, which he had to come to hate with his very soul of his every waking hour. Each time the dream would become more vivid, and he would awake with his lungs bursting with the need to breath. It was becoming increasingly difficult to go to sleep knowing that he would have such a harsh awakening. Nearly every night he would dream things that he would rather forget; the pleading cries of Muggles, blood on the usually pristine floors of the Manor, red slit eyes encased in rubbery skin that caused terror to travel down his spine. He had too many of these dreams, each one even more detailed than the last. His only salvation was the fact that once he awoke, he could try concentrating on something else, something mundane, and consciously put it out of his mind. But not the recent dreams. Not the sudden and utter hopeless feeling of suffocation. That memory was always burned into the back of his eyelids, his breath always hitching at that very thought.

Looking once more to see if he was truly alone, Draco sat down, his back leaning against the cold stone of the wall. He then placed both feet flat on the ground and raised both knees, a poor attempt to hide what he was about to do. He looked up once more, his head snapping up in panic when he heard the distant mumbling of the mad man who inhabited the cell four cells down from him. His heart beating a medley of panic, Draco lifted the sleeve of his prison robes over his left arm, folding it haphazardly near his elbow.

Under the light moonlight, he could see the Dark Mark; or rather, the remnants of the Dark Mark as it started fading into obscurity. Almost as if it was dissolving into his skin. A mark that no one would see, but he would always feel. A mark he would never be able to escape no matter what he did.

Draco flexed his left arm, his fingers tightening into a pale fist while he observed the new markings he had made over the old. The rough cuts in his skin were healing splendidly. So well in fact, that he hadn't felt that burning sensation whenever his filthy robes rubbed roughly against his open wounds. Raising the stone he held clutched in his right hand, he gritted his teeth and pressed the jagged edge against the tainted part of his smooth skin, on an expanse of skin which was yet uncut. Bracing himself for the pain that was about to come, he pushed and pushed, the sharp sting from the breaking of the skin coursing through every nerve of his body. He gritted his teeth harder, unable to stop a low grunt from escaping the moment he saw blood. Immediately, he stopped, relishing the feeling of prickling pain that proved that he was very much alive.

Breathing hard with quick, deep breaths, he braced himself once more before pushing the stone back into his torn skin. The pain that suddenly surged through him was unbearable. Almost without thought, his feet pressed down firmly and his back straightened in an effort to hold down the cry that needed to tear painstakingly from his throat. He blinked rapidly, a barely successful method to keep the tears in his eyes at bay. Through the blurry liquid in his eyes he could make out the crimson stream of blood started rushing through slowly; one tiny stream travelling over the pale skin of his forearm before it circled over and fell with tiny droplets on the black stone between his feet.

Waiting a bit longer to catch his breath, Draco pushed against his skin once more, tearing the skin across the fading Dark mark in a vertical cut that was anything but straight. Having accomplished that, he closed his eyes, gritted his teeth and dropped his head against the wall in defeat.

Each time, it got easier. The pain was becoming more bearable, and his cuts were becoming cleaner. He shuddered to think of the first time he had cut his arm. The sudden gushing of blood had made him sick to his stomach. So much so that if he had anything to eat that day, he would have vomited all the contents with no effort. Instead, he had wretched pathetically as he kept his arm away from his eyesight for fear of puking up a lung. But it had been worth it. He hadn't dreamed at all that night, the pain being the last thing he thought of before his eyes closed and the first thing he thought of from the moment he woke up.

Opening his eyes, Draco once again stared up at that lonely window where he could see the silvery stream of moonlight. He hoped with all his being that he wouldn't dream again this night. If he did, he would have to find something else to occupy his mind.

* * *

><p>Hermione found herself pacing back and forth along the length of her modest apartment in frustration before she finally decided to give up and call Harry. He was the person who gave her Malfoy as an assignment after all, so why shouldn't she let her findings be known to him? Although, technically, there were no findings. Just a sore back that was so unused to sitting stiffly for hours.<p>

Going to her small fireplace, which was the sole cause for her Muggle apartment to cost her an arm and a leg, she kneeled down on the carpet before the fireplace, picked up a handful of floo powder and threw it in the grate. Once the green flames engulfed the burning orange, she placed her head strategically before she said in a clipped, clear voice, "Grimmauld Place."

Immediately the flames roared to life around her before she was able to see the hazy image of the kitchen in Grimmauld Place. As she had accurately guessed, Harry sat at the kitchen table amidst piles and piles of documents as he scratched his quill studiously on a parchment; no doubt writing another out of a long list of statements he had to hand in. He looked tired and haggard; his robes rumpled and his head hanging unusually low as he concentrated painstakingly on the task at hand.

Hermione almost felt bad for burdening him further with what she was about to tell him. _Almost_.

"Harry!"

Harry's head snapped up before his eyes landed on her and his lips split in a welcoming grin. "Hermione!"

She shook her head, reprimanding him with a simple rise of an eyebrow. "Do they even know that you're no longer in Hong Kong?"

Grinning widely, he made his way towards the fireplace and sat down in front of it. "I'll be back before they even know I'm missing."

She narrowed her eyes at him kindly. "You can't keep doing this. The Ministry is bound to find out that you keep coming back to Grimmauld Place when you're out on missions."

He shrugged before he raised his gaze to appraise the room he was in thoughtfully. "You know I don't like sleeping in different places every night."

"I know," Hermione replied softly, knowing that months of being on the run and sleeping in a tent made her best friend wary of sleeping anywhere but in his Godfather's old bed. It had been a habit that she and Ron had tried several times to break only to be unsuccessful time and again. At some point they realized that he would move on when he was ready to move on.

Having fallen into a sullen silence, Harry suddenly asked her, "How did it go with Malfoy?"

It was all Hermione could do _not_to roll her eyes, groan loudly and state childishly that she was never going to speak to the prat ever again. Instead, she calmly let him know all that had happened with a few colourful statements thrown in just to convey exactly how much he had aggravated her.

Harry stared at her incredulously. "He lied? Why?"

This time, Hermione gave in to her impulse and let out a low sigh of frustration. "He wants assurances." When her best friend looked at her questioningly, she continued, "His mother to be able to visit his father and to get Daily Visitor Access for him."

Harry scrunched up his eyebrows in thought. "He _does_ realize that he's a convicted criminal who can't dictate terms, right?"

"He's Malfoy. Since when does he ever have an accurate impression about his life?"

"Good point," Harry said nodding. "Andromeda was so sure that he was onto something," he mumbled to himself thoughtfully.

Hermione sighed. "I highly doubt it. These are disasters created by Mother Nature, Harry. I somehow find it hard to believe that fate would choose Malfoy of all people to be a convenient Seer."

Harry looked at her seriously. "Maybe you should go back."

"What?" she asked incredulously. He can't be serious. This was obviously a hoax of some kind.

"I think I can work on the Daily Visitor Pass for Narcissa, but anything to do with Lucius will be impossible."

"Harry," Hermione tried again, "you can't be serious. We don't negotiate with mad men!"

Harry simply looked at her pleadingly. "People are dying, Hermione. If there's a way we could stop it, shouldn't we take it?"

He seemed to be holding on to a memory, and not a pleasant one at that. "What happened?"

He let out a tired sigh. "We were still in the middle of a briefing when we received a Patronus that another natural disaster had taken place, this time in India. It was horrible. By the time we got there, we found thousands dead, mostly Muggles. Mudslides," he said answering her unasked question.

"Kingsley is still adamant on keeping all this quiet, I see," Hermione mumbled dryly.

Harry nodded. "He says that the last thing he wants, is to create mass panic. Before we know it the Daily Prophet would probably make up the news that Voldemort is back."

She hated it when he did that; acting all righteous and selfless, holding all the problems of the world solely on his shoulders. It always made her feel somehow inadequate. Again, she sighed. "What do you want me to do?"

He smiled hopefully at her. "Try again."

Hermione shook her head, knowing that simply going in without a tactic won't give them the desired results that they needed. "We need a plan."

"We don't exactly have one."

"Maybe I should take Ron with me," she mumbled half-heartedly, "for muscle."

Harry looked at her curiously. "Have you spoken to Ron recently?"

His tone caused an unnatural fear to go through her. "No. Why?"

Her fear increased ten-fold when Harry looked down. It was a tell; something he did when he was about to convey bad news. "He gave his resignation to Kingsley a week ago. There were Chudley Canon try-outs in Manchester." He watched her carefully, his tone becoming gentler with each passing word. "He left this morning."

Hermione simply stared at him. Not knowing how to react or what to say. "He didn't tell me," she said softly.

"You know how it is. Ever since Fred's death, he's being doing one thing or the other trying to distract himself. This is just a phase."

She could tell from her best friend's tone that he didn't believe the words he spoke. Anything else could have been a phase, but not this. She couldn't believe that he had told Harry and not her. Especially after what happened between them during the last battle- "I have to go, Harry. Let me know once you come back from Hong Kong."

"Hermione," he said quickly, stopping her before her head could disappear from the green flames. "Do you want me to come over or something?"

She looked at him kindly. His offer was sincere but not fully committed. She could hear the hesitation in his voice as he offered his comfort and she could understand why. She could see the pile of work he had to do, and knew that he had to be somewhere in the morning. She couldn't demand something of him now. "It's fine, Harry. "_I'm _fine. You get some rest. And say 'hi' to Ginny for me."

Her best friend smiled gratefully at her. "I'll let you know about Malfoy's case."

Nodding, she waved somewhat sheepishly before ducking her head and reappearing fully in her own apartment. As the green flames turned orange once again, she collapsed onto the floor thoughtfully, lying down as her eyes looked at the ceiling unseeingly.

He didn't tell her. He left, and he didn't tell her.

She waited in that lying down position for quite some time before she sat up and with determination that was reserved for her O.W.L.s picked up Malfoy's file and began to study it, sentence by sentence.

If she couldn't control the men in her life, the least she could do was control the annoyances.

_**TBC**_


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5  
><strong>

.

_He found himself in the same place, moving the same way, doing the same thing. Just as before, he made his way slowly through the darkness as it gave way to the recognizable image of sand beneath his feet and sparkling lights above his head. The stars seemed unusually brighter. The desert expanded before him with each step, the cracks in the ground providing a deceptive look of hardened earth against the softness of the sands._

_As he walked, from the depths of the sands rose the jagged rock, standing tall and threatening over the bare desert-like terrain. Draco noticed the shape of the rock as it morphed, changing slowly before his eyes. The rising sands seem to become bigger with each passing second, the mountain it formed larger than what he had seen before._

_It was a while before Draco noticed the wind whipping around him. The sudden flickering of his pale blond hair over his eyes and the loud billowing of his grey cloak made him suddenly realize that a gust of wind was circling around him. The wind got louder and louder, drumming a monotonous sound in his ear. He turned around slowly, taking in his surroundings when he realized that the lights had become dimmer and he was seeing everything blend into darkness._

_Then, a sound stopped him cold. Turning on his heel and nearly tripping on the soft grains of sand, Draco noticed the white peacock for the first time. The creature was regal, keeping its head tall amidst lovely feathers that seemed to glitter in the near darkness. It opened its beak, emitting a sound Draco had heard so many times while roaming the grounds of the Manor. But the peacock cry seemed softer than its initial sound. Draco simply stared at the animal in curiosity, wondering what it was and what it was trying to tell him. For surely, the peacock was trying to tell him something._

_The animal cried out again, only to be drowned out completely by the wind whipping around him. The sound was so loud in his ears that it was almost deafening. The peacock continued to cry out, sound after sound being tossed in the winds surrounding him so that no other sound could reach his ears. The feeling was absolutely maddening._

_Still wondering what the determined animal was trying to tell him, Draco started moving towards it and away from the jagged surface of the rock that was always the one constant of his dreams. The closer he came to the peacock, the more he noticed about the bird. This animal was royally dressed, with rubies and emeralds hanging off its delicate neck. With each step he took towards it, the less the stones glimmered._

_The bird twitched its head towards him, almost appraising him with its green eyes, while its tiny feathers stayed stock still against the very wind that was now causing Draco to trip._

_Then the wind changed direction. While before, the wind circled around Draco, it had now lessened considerably, only to start circling the peacock as it continued to stare at him. Its feathers ruffled, slowly at first, and then almost immediately it cried out in a loud piercing cry, almost as if it was in pain. The stones were ripped from its neck, falling onto the sand that hadn't even shifted because of the wind, sinking quickly into its depths._

_The wind moved faster then, around the animal as it continued to cry out in pain. The cries got louder and louder, until Draco covered his ears with his hands and closed his eyes, trying to block out the painful sound. But it didn't work, the sound kept getting louder no matter what he did, until the piercing cry no longer sounded like a bird, but a woman._

Draco woke up with a scream tearing through his throat. His skin was warm, he could feel the thin sheen of sweat covering every inch of his flesh and there was a throbbing pain in his head that seemed to spread with every passing second. Lowering his head and hunching over, he screwed his eyes shut and tried to breath. He tried to concentrate on the flow of every inhale and exhale, even though all he wanted to do was pull against the hairs on his head to take away from the building pain that was pulsing through his brain. It was agony. And he knew he couldn't scream. He didn't want to be thrown into a Dementor guarded cell for a week because he angered the guards. The pain was unbearable, but the fear of Dementors kept him quiet, gritting his teeth painfully as he continued to just breathe.

It took a while, but the pain started to subside. Little by little, Draco became aware of his surroundings; of his ragged breathing and the pool of sweat that had travelled from his forehead, down the length of his nose and onto the concrete floor of his cell. He couldn't remember how long he was hunched into a ball, rocking back and forth trying to concentrate on anything but the pain.

Once his head cleared, he looked up and noticed the beginning rays of dawn streaming through the bars of the window. Sadly, he looked down at his butchered arm, knowing that no matter how many times he did that, he would still keep dreaming. This just proved it.

Breathing heavily, Draco grabbed the bars and the wall, trying to lift his tired, malnourished body off the floor. After a bit of stumbling, he leaned against the wall tiredly, his eyes beginning to droop with the sheer effort of that one motion.

Draco swallowed, his dry throat hurting him with that small movement. His mouth was parched, his lips chapped and he was badly in need of water. But he knew he wouldn't get his daily goblet of water, at least not for a few hours.

As the sun streamed in slowly, Draco felt his body weaken. His eyes kept closing of their own accord. The effort to keep his eyelids from drooping was taking a lot out of him. Before long, his lids covered his eyes, and his legs gave way, causing him to slide roughly to the ground. With his legs bent awkwardly and one arm under his body, Draco's head hit the mattress heavily. All he knew at that moment was darkness.

* * *

><p>Hermione groaned as she turned to the side to squint sleepily at the Muggle clock on her bedside table. Who would want to wake her up at five thirty on a Saturday morning? Out of sheer curiosity, she stumbled out of bed, wrapped a robe around her body, grabbed her wand and walked languidly to her apartment door. Whoever it was, it was definitely a friend, if the slight prickling of her skin was anything to go by. She couldn't help but be grateful to those wards that could wake her up gently. She preferred them to the ones that had a nasty habit of forcing a person awake with a jolt.<p>

Looking through the peephole, Hermione frowned at the person standing outside her apartment before she opened the door fully to let him in. "Harry?" she questioned, confused. He looked dressed and ready for work, not at all reflecting the time or the day.

"It happened again," he said with a grim expression.

She immediately felt herself wake up. "Where?"

"Washington. The American Ministry of Magic requested assistance. I'm on my way there. Thought you might want to come."

"Yes. Yes, of course." She gestured him inside and closed the door. "Just give me a few minutes," she mumbled as she distractedly made her way to her bedroom to change into her work robes quickly. Another disaster! And so soon. Looking back at the patterns, they hadn't materialized more than a week apart. But to have two in the same week was practically unheard of.

By the time Hermione had washed, put a quick charm on her hair to keep it respectably neat, and grabbed her purse, she found Harry pacing the length of her modest apartment in agitation. "Ready?" She nodded quickly before following him out.

"What happened?" she asked softly as they started walking towards the Apparition point.

"Tornado. I heard the situation is terrible. People are trapped under rubble; most of the building structures look ready to collapse. Kingsley sent me to round up everyone who I could think of to move at a moment's notice. We need as many wands as we can possibly get." Almost as an afterthought he added, "Did I wake you?"

Hermione found that question hardly the point to be discussed. But Harry had always been thoughtful, even during the time of a crisis. "No, not really," she lied. "You know I generally get up early."

Harry nodded before quickening his pace. "We better hurry. The last thing we need is more casualties because we weren't there to stop buildings from collapsing."

"How bad is it?" she asked, afraid of the answer.

Harry chose not to answer, instead taking her hand in his and Apparating the moment they were outside the wards she had placed around the vicinity of her apartment building.

The moment they arrived, she knew the reason he didn't say anything was because he didn't know how to say what he wanted to. The devastation that surrounded them was horrible; and before she could take it all in, Harry pulled her towards a group of wizards, wands out and ready, and together, they went to work.

* * *

><p>"Get up, you filthy maggot. Up!"<p>

The pain in his side seemed to double as a rough kick was aimed right at Draco's gut. With an undignified and muffled 'Oof', he blinked open his eyes only to be welcomed to the world of the conscious by the faces of two men he absolutely despised. How wonderful! He always did want to be woken up by two pissing bastards. It was practically heaven, really.

"Lazy, are we?" the short, bearded, ugly one questioned as he hauled Draco to his feet.

"More like stubborn," the tall, un-bearded, uglier one sneered as he grabbed onto Draco's other arm.

In protest, all Draco could do was scoff at their extremely unwitty banter, which in hindsight wasn't a good idea since he got kicked in his gut once again for his 'insolence'. If Draco had made a list of things that insulted his guards, he would have easily found that he had committed most of those acts just to get under their skin. And he always succeeded in that endeavour, no matter what he was called, and no matter what punishment he got. He just found that it was worth it. He always did know what he could do to irritate the guards, but in such a manner that he didn't go too far to be locked up in a Dementor-guarded cell as a punishment. That he was careful of.

The walk to the room where he met with his visitors was just as painstakingly slow as any other time. He was shackled like normal, and a quick cleaning charm was placed on him to give the facade that he wasn't mistreated in the least, before he was shoved roughly into the small room with the one table and two chairs.

Sneering, he prepared himself for another battle of wits against Granger; instead, his sneer fell when he realized that it was his mother who was sitting primly in the other chair and not his nemesis. Draco couldn't believe the feeling of disappointment that washed over him.

The moment she saw him, Narcissa got to her feet and practically ran towards him, stopping only to lightly place her hands on him. He knew the cleaning charm was sloppy work and that it couldn't hide the true filth underneath, and his mother - ever the pure-blood mistress - would never embrace him quite so passionately when there was company. And apparently, an Auror guarding him against escape amounted to 'company'.

"How are you, Draco? Are you alright?" she asked, her eyes looking at him with utmost concern.

More than how he was doing, he couldn't help but want answers to her confusing presence. She still had more than a month before she could visit him. Her presence was something he longed for, but not like this. He couldn't help but wonder if she was there to convey bad news? Had there been a death in his family? What about his father? Was he finally given the Kiss? Or, had he decided to take the coward's way out and rid himself of his life?

"Mother," Draco said carefully. "Why are you here?"

She staggered back almost like she had been slapped. "I came to see my only son and make sure he was alright. Do you not want me here?"

"No. I..." He quickly glanced at the Auror, suddenly conscious of the fact that his mother seemed close to giving him a good telling off. No matter how old you are, in the pure-blood world, a son was always expected to be submissive to his mother. He had no intention of letting the Aurors see him as such. "What I mean is, has something happened?"

Narcissa shook her head. "Nothing new. Except that I have been granted daily visitation rights to see you," she said, smiling brightly as she placed a warm hand on his cheek. "My son."

Draco felt his gaze narrow instinctively. "Granger spoke to you then?"

His mother immediately dropped her hand from his face and held herself upright, her back stiff in a way that betrayed how uncomfortable she felt with their current topic of conversation. "Why should that..." she swallowed audibly, almost as if the next words that were to come out of her mouth tasted like acid, "Muggle-born," she sneered, "be speaking to _me_?"

If the topic had been any less serious, he would have smirked at his mother's inability to properly hide her prejudice. "Didn't you hear, mother? Potter assigned her to my case?"

He received the reaction he wanted. Narcissa's face was immediately devoid of colour as she looked at him incredulously. "What?" she snapped. "Andromeda _assured_me that Potter would take over your case himself."

Draco scoffed. "Granger is the brilliant one, mother. If I had to pick the best for my case, Granger would be the one. Not bloody Potter. The Scar-head wouldn't have been able to do half the things he did without her help."

His mother seemed to be in her own world, her attention far from him. "But this is unacceptable," she mumbled more to herself. "I must speak to Andromeda immediately."

Any other time, Draco would have gladly set his mother to cause trouble. But not now. Not when his future was in the balance, and he felt that he was in fact getting through to Granger. "No. Don't."

His mother stared at him as if he had gone mental. Maybe he had. "What? Why not?"

"Because Granger got you the daily visitation rights, Mother. And she can easily take it away." The one thing his family could understand more than anything else was blackmail and extortion. And as expected, Narcissa's expression fell to one of a woman who was contemplating her next move carefully.

"I'll see what I can do without letting that... Muggle-born get her way. You have my word on that."

Draco nodded before he took his usual seat while his mother sat opposite him. He couldn't really stop his mother from doing what she felt must be done. But what he could do was convince her slowly but surely that this was what she wanted. He grew up in a pure-blood household after all. And the first lesson you always learn is manipulation.

He couldn't help but think, as he listened to his mother drone on about another society scandal that didn't care about, that Potter and Granger must be desperate. Why else would they have given him what he wanted?

_**TBC**_

**A/N - Feel free to tell me what you think. Reader's opinions really help with plot-lines. Really. **_**:)  
><strong>_


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

.

Hermione was tired. Her eyes were drooping, her limbs ached, and it seemed like a thin layer of sweat was permanently on her brow no matter how many times she wiped her sleeve against her forehead.

It had been a gruelling couple of hours. First they were dispatched into teams, some in charge of holding up the unstable building structures, others in charge of rescue, others to look after healing those who wouldn't otherwise survive, until the ambulances or doctors arrived, and a final group in charge of Obliviating memories so that the victims thought they had somehow clawed themselves to safety.

Kingsley had put her on the team with the final stage because of her proficiency for memory charms, and Harry was one of the many Aurors that made up the rescue teams. Sometime between the collapse of a building and moving on to their next destination she lost him in the herd of injured, yelling, moving bodies. He managed to find her while she took a breather as she sat quietly on an abandoned street drinking bottled water to quench her thirst.

"Can I have some?"

Squinting at the bright sun that created a halo around her friend, she handed him the bottle. "Any casualties?"

Harry let out a tired grunt as he sat down beside her. "Not many. Better than India anyway."

"That's good." She wiped her brow again, her eyes falling on the absolute devastation that was before her. "It looks like the end of the world."

"I know," he mumbled as he passed the bottle back to her. "I spoke to Kingsley about Malfoy."

"And?"

"He thinks we should get an expert."

"What kind of expert?"

He shrugged. "No idea."

Hermione looked thoughtfully at the rubble that seemed to be all around the city. "Do you think one of those dreams of his happened last night?"

Harry stayed silent for a moment, his brow furrowing in thought before he said, "There's a way we can find out."

"How?"

He stood up, preparing to go back to the rest of the wizards in Muggle clothing who were resting behind concealment charms. "The Aurors who guard his block. Andromeda told me that, apparently, the dreams are more like nightmares."

She stood up beside him, dusting her clothes to remove the concrete dust they had been sitting in. "You mean he probably gives some indication."

Harry nodded. "I'll talk to Andromeda. Maybe Narcissa might know something about last night."

Hermione eyed her best friend curiously. "Is that why you agreed to help her get daily visitation rights? So if anything happens, she would be the first to know?"

Harry grinned, his head ducking in a small bow. "I knew she would want to go every day. You remember what she's like. She smothers Malfoy so much that I'm surprised he was even allowed to leave her side and attend Hogwarts. If there is anything that needs to be known, Narcissa knows it."

She couldn't help but grin at her friend's logical plan. "Why, Harry Potter, I'm suitably impressed."

He grinned. "Why always with a tone of surprise?" he teased.

Shaking her head, she started walking back towards the rest of the wizards. "Come on. We have a bit more work to do."

Harry matched her stride for stride, his expression grim. "Let's just hope that we don't lose anyone else."

Hermione silently nodded her agreement.

* * *

><p>"Granger," Draco began courteously as he sat in his designated chair; one of four, he noticed. One currently unoccupied. He then turned his attention to the spectacled, messy-haired wizard who had been pacing when he had entered. "Potter."<p>

Potter looked at him carefully, appraising his appearance from head to toe. "Malfoy. I see you're looking better."

Draco chose to ignore the thinly veiled insult as his glance fell on the only other person in the room. "And who might you be? Potter's bodyguard?"

Potter sighed despondently as the man twitched in his seat. "This is Professor Ryer. He's a decorated Auror, as well as a leading expert in Memory Modification Charms in Germany. He has graciously agreed to help us with your... situation."

The introduction was so politely inclined that Draco had to fight the effort to vomit out his disgust. "My situation?" he questioned snidely, his eyes falling on Granger.

Granger simply kept her eyes on Harry as she seated herself in one of the two wooden chairs. Some things never changed; she still looked at Potter like he was some bloody hero. Potter, ever the man in charge, chose to ignore Draco's question and instead turned his attention to the other man. "Professor, would you like to talk to him?"

Professor Ryer pulled out a fair bit of parchment before he faced Draco. "Now, Mr Malfoy, I understand that you've had a few dreams recently. Can you explain them to me? In detail, please."

Draco simply stared at the man who did _not_ have a German accent, before he turned to face the only woman in the room. "Granger, tell me if I'm wrong; but what makes you think that I've been under a memory modification spell?"

Granger looked at Harry briefly before she spoke. "You had another of those dreams last night, didn't you, Malfoy?"

It took all the years of being a Slytherin for him to school his features into an image of detached boredom, even though his very being was shaken in surprise by what she just said. "What makes you say that?"

"It had something to do with wind, I'm guessing," she said confidently, ignoring his previous question.

This time, Draco couldn't hide the incredulity out in his voice. "How did you-?"

"There was a tornado in Washington last night," Potter continued. "Roughly the same time you were having your...nightmares."

Draco quickly glanced at the guard who was standing close to the exit and couldn't help but notice the slight quirk of his lips. They had heard him, then. He wasn't nearly as quiet as he thought he had been. "I don't understand what this has to do with Memory Modification Charms, Potter."

This time, it was Granger who answered. "Neither did we. We first thought you were exhibiting signs of a seer. But that didn't make much sense. How was it that you had certain elements in your dreams that matched the natural disasters that were happening around the world? Millions are injured, thousands are dead. The earth is breaking. And somehow, you know what's happening when it's happening. A seer sees the future, but you seem to be seeing the present as and when it happens."

"And how is it that you know what my dreams entail?" The last he remembers is lying to her about what he was dreaming and when he was dreaming it. The two members of the golden trio looked at each other; and from that one look, Draco knew who it was who sold him out to the Boy Who Lived To Annoy Him. "My mother," he snapped, disgusted by the very idea that she chose Potter over her own blood.

"Actually, it was Andromeda," Potter stated smugly. "It wasn't difficult for her to get the information from Narcissa. All she had to do was ask."

"You still didn't tell me how you came up with the absolutely brilliant plan of memory modification," Draco said sarcastically.

"I was the one who actually suggested it, Mr Malfoy," the Professor who sat opposite him stated politely. "In my time in Germany, I found several cases where wizards or witches could do things but have no idea why. I soon realized that they had the answers within them. We just had to know where to look."

"Then you're going to ravage my mind then? Going to use Legilimency on me, are you?" Let them try. Snape had taught him well. He wouldn't have been able to stay alive for quite so long had it not been for that one important skill.

The Professor had the audacity to chuckle. "Oh no, Mr Malfoy. Our minds are way too delicate for that. I think if you studied the magic of Legilimency , you would know that I can only penetrate the mind so far as to the memories that you yourself are conscious of. Now the ones that you don't know exist...now that is another story."

"And how do you propose you find out these memories, _Professor_," Draco spat in disgust.

"By a simple charm." The Professor pulled out his wand and held it up for Draco to see. "If I may?" he asked politely.

Draco couldn't help but sneer, even as Potter looked at him with that forever-perfect hero expression of his. "You have no choice, Malfoy."

Apparently, he really didn't. For at that moment, the Professor mumbled a few choice words - which in all honesty sounded like rubbish - only to lift the wand once then place it down with a wide grin across his face. "Ah! As I suspected. You have been put under a memory modification charm, Mr. Malfoy. To be honest, quite a few, actually."

Draco stared at him in disbelief. "Potter, where did you get this ol' kook? Couldn't you have found someone who actually knows what he's doing?"

"He's not lying, Malfoy," Granger said, almost sounding awestruck. "Your head glowed."

"I'll keep that in mind when I join the bloody circus then."

"Mr Malfoy, I assure you, you _are_ currently under several Memory Modification Charms. This means we have our work cut out for us. To undo a memory modification charm is extremely tricky. They are not your average Obliviate charm where a memory is simply wiped clean. Someone has placed false memories in your mind. And we need to clear your fake memories from the real ones for this endeavour to succeed."

"And what makes you think my dreams have anything to do with these 'fake' memories?"

"We don't know that it does," Potter stated diplomatically. "But would you rather stay with fake memories or real ones?"

He hated it when Potter was right. He hated it when Potter was _anything_. Actually, he hated Potter most of all. "What do you think?" he asked Granger. She might be Potter's lackey, but she could always think for herself. Funny how he knew that about her.

Granger looked at him incredulously for a moment, her expression startled. "I think you should co-operate. No one wants those memories, Malfoy. And I'm sure you would want to get rid of them."

"Fine," Malfoy said with confidence. "I'll do it. But only if Granger sits in during these _sessions_."

He didn't miss the look of incredulity that Potter sent Granger, his very being excited by the prospect of annoying and confusing his arch nemesis.

"I hope you don't mind, Mr. Malfoy, but I would rather see you alone. I need a mind that is open to remembering and is not privy to any distractions."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes haughtily. "Did I stutter when I demanded what I wanted, Professor?"

Taken aback, the Professor leaned forward, dropping his voice to the tone of confidence. "Removing these memory modification charms can be very demanding, mentally, as well as physically. And as much as I respect your need to have someone in your best interest while we work on this, I have to warn you that this will take several sessions and will not be easy. If anything Mr Malfoy, I'm afraid that one wrong move my hinder your existing _real_ memories."

That last sentence practically told Draco exactly what he wanted to do, or rather _didn't_ want to do. "Forget it then," he snapped, scandalized by what they intended on putting him through. "I'm not doing it."

Granger's eyes widened. "Malfoy-"

"Don't even try, Granger. I am not going to agree to some whack job spell that could turn me into a vegetable." He looked at the world-renowned charms expert. "That's what you're saying, isn't it? I won't be myself once you're done prodding my brain."

The hesitancy in the man's stance told him exactly what he wanted to know.

But he couldn't help but look at Granger as she pleaded with him. "Please, Malfoy. I promise, you'll be safe. This is your chance to save so many people who are dying."

"I'm sorry," Draco began sarcastically. "But the last time I checked, there was no connection between what's in my head and the bloody disasters in the world. You're just planning to go on a wild fishing expedition, and ruin me in the process."

"Look, Malfoy," Potter said sternly. "You're not the only one to go through this. There are others who have had to make sacrifices for the good of the world-"

"Oh, are we back to talking about you, Potter? Three seconds before you mentioned your greatest self-sacrificing activity. How proud I am of you."

"Malfoy," Potter sneered in warning.

Draco paid no heed. Instead, he stood up and gestured to the guards. "We're done here." And leaving the three flabbergasted, he left the meeting room with a guard on either side. He had no intention of becoming a martyr. He had done enough of that for his family. He certainly wasn't prepared to do that for the sake of a bloody hunch.

_**TBC**_


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

.

Hermione huffed in irritation before she handed over the documents that she was looking over to Harry. "It was a long shot."

Harry's jaw tightened. "It was a long shot to think that he would at least pretend to be selfless for his own self-preservation."

Biting her lip thoughtfully, she looked up. "He has a point, you know. We're running blindly trying to find anything that could possibly stop what's happening. Malfoy just happens to be the collateral damage."

Surprisingly, Harry looked up at her, his eyes sparked in anger. "Are you and Malfoy friends now?"

"No…" Hermione said patiently. It had been a long week and her nerves were just as raw as her best friend's. She'd rather try to keep herself in check to prevent a possible argument. "It's just that… We _know_that there is a connection, but we don't know what it is or how it will change things. If it will change anything at all, that is," she muttered reluctantly.

"We would know," said Harry, strongly. "If Malfoy was willing to think of others besides himself for once."

Sighing, Hermione decided to proceed cautiously. It would not do to anger her best friend when he was so obviously on edge. "You have to admit we're asking him to take a big risk."

"He has nothing to lose, Hermione."

"Nothing but his memories and his sanity. That's all he has left, Harry. How can we ask him to do something that could leave him in a similar state as a victim from a Dementor's kiss?"

He stared at her. "Why are you defending him?"

"I'm not," Hermione said quickly. "I simply understand what he's going through."

"I would willingly understand what he was going through if _he_would understand what thousands have been going through because of these disasters. Sometimes, a sacrifice must be made for the greater good. You know that as well as I do. We've all done our part. Now it's Malfoy's turn."

Hermione stayed silent, her eyes going back to the report that Professor Ryer had prepared for her. "It's not easy to make the sacrifice."

"It never is." He smiled at her kindly. "But you did it."

Her smile was strained, the memory of the last few moments with her parents burning brightly in her brain. It had been nearly two years since she had last seen them, since she had wiped her existence from their minds. The thought of how they had looked at her in confusion for only a moment before their gazes became empty without any recognition still tightened her chest even after all this time. "I just wish we could find something, a charm or a potion that could simply give us all the information we need."

"You heard Ryer," Harry mumbled distractedly as he decided to scan the papers before him. "The human mind is built to protect itself. There's no way we could differentiate the memories unless Malfoy is comfortable with the idea and willing."

Hermione stared at the pile of paperwork they had, her mind making a connection that she hadn't thought of before.

"Where are you going?" her friend asked, startled when Hermione had stood up and started gathering her things.

"I want to check something," she mumbled distractedly. Mentally, she made a list of all the books that could possibly have the information that she needed as she hurriedly grabbed everything she needed.

"Check what?"

But, Hermione had already taken hold of her purse and an armful of documents, her mind racing with possibilities. "I'll talk to you later, Harry." Before long, she was rushing out, leaving Harry staring after her incredulously.

* * *

><p>Draco stared at his visitor. He doubted if any other prisoner was dragged so frequently out of his cell, practically on a daily basis, by those who helped put them there in the first place. After all, his logic followed thus. He had aligned himself with his father who had joined the Dark Lord. Potter and Granger with the obviously useless Weasley was to blame for killing that same Dark Lord and putting all of his followers in Azkaban.<p>

In his mind, his reduced sentence and the lack of Dementors for guards wasn't necessarily Potter's doing, but simple fairness. He was no murderer and he was an underage wizard when he took the mark; therefore he could not be held responsible solely for his actions. There was also the tiny fact that he was coerced into doing whatever he had to do while under the ruling of that red eyed mad man. This meant that he owed nothing to the Golden Trio. And it also meant that having Granger sitting across from him and looking at him expectantly wasn't about to change the opinion he had taken years to cultivate about her. He could reluctantly forgive a person for a lesser lineage, that is something no one could control; but being friends with Potter is where he drew the line.

Draco continued to look at the person Potter had obviously sent to talk some sense into him; and he couldn't help but mock her about that fact.

"Potter had a previous engagement?"

She barely blinked before she replied, "Harry doesn't know I'm here."

Draco lifted a curious eyebrow. "And why _are_you here?"

Granger let out a low breath, almost as if she was about to say something unpleasant. "Harry seems to think that you're a lost cause-"

"He's right."

She looked at him seriously. "But I happen to think that you're not."

He scoffed. "You're fooling yourself."

"Am I?" she asked softly. "You asked me to be there for the exercises that Professor Ryer was planning on putting you through. Why is that?"

"I don't need to answer that since I'm not going to undergo anything."

"I don't know about that, Malfoy. I think you want to."

He let out a sarcastic laugh. "Oh yes, please. The only danger is losing my mind. What does that matter as long as I'm hauled up in this place?"

She let out a tired sigh. "Things could be much worse for you. You know that."

"Yes. And I also know that things could be much better. If you think you can change my mind..."

"I _know_I can change your mind."

He raised a mocking eyebrow at her, his interest suddenly piqued. "Oh really? How?"

"Freedom."

She said one word, and that was all it took for his heart to beat that much faster.

"I can't guarantee it," she stated hurriedly, "but what I can do is work on getting you an earlier hearing and become your character witness." She looked at him pointedly. "I have no doubt that you need one."

Draco narrowed his eyes at her. "I need a guarantee."

"I told you I can't give you one."

"Then we have nothing more to discuss." He huffed moodily before leaning back and appraising her curiously. It was like a game with her. In all the years he had known her, she had never been the type to take it lying down. Actually, she had never been the type to take anything without giving it back ten-fold. He couldn't help but eye her expectantly, wondering what she had as her plan 'B'. After all, this was Hermione Granger; she wouldn't step out in to public without a back-up plan.

When she sighed, he knew he had been right. "I didn't want to do this."

His curiosity was instantly increased by her expression. "Do what?"

She hesitated a moment before continuing with a despondent sigh. "I know about the cuts on your arm."

His smirk fell, his eyes narrowing in anger. "You don't know anything."

"You're wrong. I know that you do it to stop yourself from feeling those dreams. That's it, isn't it, Malfoy? You feel what you dream."

He shifted uncomfortably, keeping the mask of detached boredom across his features. "I don't believe that's any of your bloody business."

Granger sighed then, almost as if she was dealing with an unruly child. "We are giving you an option here."

"And what option is _that_?" He snapped.

She paused slightly before she said, "The option _not_to submit you to St Mungo's."

Draco felt a chill travel down his spine. "What do you mean?"

"The recent Ministry stance is that any dangerous behaviour to oneself or others are to be treated if that person is not serving a life sentence or destined for the Kiss."

"And what does _that_mean?"

She seemed to understand his badly articulated question. "That means that if you are submitted to St Mungo's for treatment, once you're cured, you will be brought back to Azkaban to serve the rest of your sentence."

"The rest of my sentence?" Had a he found a loophole? Could he really just pretend to be a nutter and be locked up in a room with heat, proper meals and a _bed_? What could be better than that?

The woman opposite him seemed to be thinking along the same lines as him. "I don't think you understand, Malfoy. If submitted, your incarceration will be paused. It doesn't matter if you spend years in St Mungo's. The moment you're deemed cured, you will be sent right back to conclude the remaining days of incarceration that was left from the day you left for St Mungo's."

Draco stared at her in disbelief, his jaw tightening painfully at what she was obviously hinting at. "What you're saying then, Granger, is that I really have no bloody choice. If I let that good Charms specialist of yours into my brain, I'm as good as a saliva spitting vegetable who can easily be released to St Mungo's to spend the rest of my days like Longbottom's parents. On the other hand, if I refuse to undergo this inhumane treatment, you will simply wave your political pull and get me thrown into another prison; one that would gladly give me comfortable quarters in exchange for declaring me insane, which I'm sure that you and your Gryffindor friends would gladly enjoy. And once I'm healed, I'll be sent right back here to serve my sentence. Brilliant options, really. I feel like I have all the hope in the world."

At least she had the decency to look unhappy. "Look, I promise you that I won't let any harm come to you. As much as I would like the idea of you not being able to spout that mouth off at anyone for the rest of your life, I'm not so cruel."

"Really? Could have fooled me," he mumbled darkly.

"Malfoy," she began in a pleading tone, "I'm sorry that you've been put in to this type of situation. No one wants something like this on their shoulders. But I believe that you can do some good here. Something that can acquit you in the eyes of all those who still see you as a guilty Death Eater."

He couldn't help but be moved by her honest admission; if only, partly. "Granger, what you're asking me..."

"I wouldn't ask, unless I was sure."

He raised his eyes curiously at her tone. "Sure of what?"

The grin that she gave him made the corners of his lips quirk in a small smile, which he then proceeded to forcefully turn into a frown. "I've been discussing things with Professor Ryer, and we think we might have a way of ensuring that you don't suffer anything from his treatment."

Unconsciously, he leant forward, finding himself quite unable to hide his interest. "What have you found?" Now _this_he could handle.

"Well," Granger began in that matter of fact tone of hers, "we realised that the problem with the Memory Modification Charm compared to the Obliviate spell is that we are not simply lifting a curtain and letting you see what has been there all the time. Your memories have either been removed or have been made dormant to such an extent that messing with those memories could damage your mentality."

"You're not exactly pointing out anything good, Granger."

But the woman simply leaned forward, her eyes shining brilliantly with excitement. "What if I was to tell you that we could get through the charms that were cast on you, extract the memories we need and you wouldn't be any the wiser?"

He grinned, unable to hide his own happiness at the thought of undergoing no pain and finally finding out what had been plaguing his mind for the past few weeks. "I'd say you're bloody brilliant."

A pretty blush coloured her cheeks, which confused Draco greatly. "Yes, well...um..." she sputtered, making him wonder if she was even used to getting any complements at all. The way she acted all embarrassed was the perfect tell. He knew instantly that she had been the one to find this factor that could be his salvation. Whatever it was, she was currently finding it hard to articulate.

"Granger," he said, somewhat gently, his main objective being to coax what she clearly wanted to say out of her, while to himself, he was determined never to admit that he was.

She looked at him with a small smile, which he had to admit had never really happened before. Maybe they weren't wrong; maybe it _was_the end of the world. And maybe, he should stop staring.

"Sorry," she mumbled, before a quick breath proved to be sufficient for her to go back to her usual know-it-all self. He would never admit that he found the way she switched her moods that fascinating. "We think we found the perfect potion that could enable us to keep you in a calm state which would keep your mind is open, help us find out what was modified in your memories and make sure that if you _don't _suffer any pain. In fact, we believe you will have no recollection of it at all."

She looked at him expectantly, almost as if he knew what she was talking about. Draco, on the other hand, had absolutely no bleeding idea what she was on about.

"Veritaserum," she said excitedly. "It's perfect. You can undergo the magical procedure with no problem since your mind will be so welcoming."

He had to admit, it sounded perfect. "Will it work?" He couldn't help but notice how she used the words 'we think', which wasn't very reassuring, especially to a person in his current predicament.

She chose to side-step the question he asked. "It's your best chance."

Draco hated to admit it, especially since he would be invariably giving a compliment to the person sitting opposite him, but the need to lose those dreams were undeniable. They haunted him when he slept and seemed almost worse when he tried to be awake. He let out a despondent sigh. "If it works, then I wouldn't mind undergoing what that Professor of yours had in mind."

Granger smiled brilliantly at him. "I thought you would say that." She turned around and nodded to the guard who opened the door quickly to reveal Potter and the Professor.

Draco turned an accusing glare towards her. "You knew I would say yes." He hated that he was so predictable. What he hated more was the fact that _she_had known what he would choose.

Granger didn't look half as ashamed as he thought she should have been. "I hoped you would." She amended unapologetically as she stood up and joined Potter.

"Now, Mr Malfoy," the Professor began as he took the seat she had just vacated. "Let's begin, shall we? We have a lot of work to do."

Even before he could say anything else, Potter and Granger stepped out before the door closed behind them like an ominous thud.

Draco felt a familiar shiver travel along his spine; one that was some parts apprehension and some parts fear. Yet, despite what he felt, he couldn't help but think about the look his childhood nuisance had given him just before the door had closed behind her. She had smiled softly, her expression one of growing respect. With a pang he realised that no one had looked at him the way she just did in a long time. No one had ever given him the impression that they had faith in him to do the right thing.

What worried him the most was how he really wanted her to look at him like that again.


	9. Chapter 8

**A/N - It took me a while to get over my writer's block. But now I'm bacaaak! :D  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong><span>Chapter 8<span>  
><strong>

_**.**_

_There had been whispers around the Manor. There were words mentioned that he didn't understand. But he was determined to gather as much information as he could._

_In a place that used to be his home, he found himself casting silencing charms so as not to alert the many Death Eaters that roamed the halls, and especially not to alert him as he moved slowly around, trying to piece together the puzzles that could help him and his family._

_He was the one Draco was most afraid of. He who had managed to turn his father from a proud, pure-blood wizard, a leader and king, into a snivelling coward. He who had blood-red eyes that were slit horrendously across his rubber snake-like features. Those eyes gave him nightmares; yet still, he would listen in on the private conversations that his family was no longer privileged to hear. They were no longer holding their positions at the top tier; they had now fallen from grace, only barely considered more important than the Dark Lord's personal Muggle play things. Oh, how he hated to see them being toyed with._

_The Dark Lord had barely called Malfoy Manor his own when Draco witnessed his first torture. He was a man not born to wizarding parents and currently held a position in the Ministry of Magic. The Dark Lord had stayed calm and unaffected as Yaxley and Dolohov burned and berated the wizard until he haltingly, and with chapped lips, told them the plans of the new Minister for Magic._

_Draco stood still with his fingers curled at his sides between his mother and father. When the Ministry employee begged "Please," his eyes filled with tears and loss, Draco heard the voice of his father and saw how hopeless he had looked when the Dark Lord had first returned. It was impossible for Draco not to wince with each curse, the slight shake of his shoulders causing his mother to gently place a comforting hand on his arm while she watched the spectacle with a neutral expression._

_Draco did what was commanded and watched the man writhe in pain, the blood leaving him just as red as any wizard's. Silently, in his mind, Draco wondered if there really was a difference between his kind and theirs. And silently, in his mind, he called the wizard Muggle-born, a form of repentance, just as the wizard's last breath left him._

_Draco was shaking. Never had he seen such pain or heard such screams. A chill ran up his spine and he looked up, feeling that he was being watched. The Dark Lord's eyes were fixed calculatingly upon him, even though his expression was unchanged. Draco's fingers curled even further into his fists, so hard that he nearly drew blood. Had the Dark Lord heard his thoughts?_

Shivering, Draco blinked open his eyes wearily. His whole body was wracked with chills, his teeth chattering, even though it felt as if a fever had overtaken him. Feeling the effort of keeping his eyes open, he curled further into himself and pulled the comforter that was placed on him, tightly around his body. There was no pain save for a headache, which felt like there was a monumental weight placed on his head. There were too many sensations to concentrate on, all of them unpleasant.

Draco flinched when he felt cool fingers lightly touch his forehead. They were gentle, but he didn't care. He could hear voices above him, hushed whispers and questions that made him want to yell at them to keep quiet, to leave him in his misery.

But the voices didn't do what he wanted. He felt the weight of another comforter, the dampness of a cold cloth on his forehead, before his head was tipped back, his mouth opened and a foul-smelling potion poured down his throat, the bitterness of which nearly made him wretch. It was constant activity above him, but nothing seemed to make the feelings of utter agony go away.

He shivered, and continued to shiver before finally, with great effort and exhaustion, he fell asleep.

* * *

><p>Hermione let out a low breath before she looked up at Harry. "We can't do this again."<p>

Harry frowned, his expression one of deep thought as he looked at Malfoy's curled-up form. Before he could say anything, he turned to the other person who seemed to be just as disturbed by the situation as the two of them were. "Did it work?"

Professor Ryer had the same expression as Harry, his fingers fidgeting with his wand as he looked down at his ward. "Only time will tell, Mr Potter."

Harry looked to Hermione. "I thought Veriteserum would make it easier."

"It did," Professor Ryer answered for Hermione. "Had he not been so willing, I fear that Mr Malfoy would have suffered much worse."

Harry's frown deepened. "Is there any way we could know if it _did _work?"

"Harry!"

Her friend was unapologetic. "You're thinking the same thing too, Hermione."

"Even if it did work," Hermione said reluctantly, "it's too dangerous to continue. Isn't that right, Professor?"

Ryer looked thoughtfully down at his sleeping charge before he took a few steps towards the table that housed the variety of potions he had brought with him for this experiment. "The potion I gave Mr Malfoy should cure the fever and chills he is currently experiencing. If it doesn't…" He looked through several vials before picking up one that had rose-coloured liquid. Ryer handed it over to Hermione. "Give this to him twice a day. A drop in his food should be more than enough to prevent any more episodes."

Hermione's fingers tightened around the vial. "Does that mean that he will need constant care?"

"Oh yes," Professor Ryer said quickly. "Mr Malfoy has undergone a tremendous ordeal. If there was a spell or potion that enabled lost or altered memories to be brought to the surface, this would be much easier. Unfortunately, that isn't the case. If there is to be such a method, we would have to invent it." Ryer turned to Harry with a grave expression. "I would understand if you and Mr Malfoy wouldn't want to continue, Mr Potter. I don't know many who would want to go through this again after such a disappointing first time. The mind is a sensitive thing. It would be understandable if you wish not to try anything further."

"If it did work, what would be the procedure then?"

"That I can't say as yet. It depends on how clear Mr Malfoy's memories are and how much damage he has endured as a result of the first treatment. The potion I gave should bring him peace and calm. If it doesn't, please contact me and I will see what I can do."

Harry held out his hand and shook Ryer's hand firmly. "Thank you. We will be in touch."

"It's been a pleasure." Again, Ryer turned to Hermione. "Once he awakes, give him a moment before you question him. Be patient with him. He might not even know if he has a new memory."

Hermione smiled slightly as she nodded her thanks. Once the Professor left, she looked at Harry meaningfully. "He can't stay here."

Regrettably, Harry sighed at the image of his enemy of so long ago. Malfoy's expression was drawn as he peacefully slept on the uncomfortable chair that was given to them from the prison. "I know."

"Any ideas?"

"I have one," said Harry heavily. "He can thank you for giving me the idea in the first place."

* * *

><p><em>The hall was brightly lit. Draco's steps were quick, the sound echoing off the walls. He was running. There were two others chasing him. They were laughing.<em>

_"This is not for the faint of heart, Draco," his father said gravely as he rose up to his full height slowly. Moments ago he had been on one knee, at Draco's eye level while his hand held his son's shoulder in a reassuring manner. Now Draco looked up at his father. He was so tall, so strong. Draco was in awe of such power. No one was like his father, and someday, he would be just like him._

_Lucius Malfoy smiled. "You are too young."_

Draco Malfoy's eyes snapped open. It took a moment for him to get his bearings, but once he did, all he could see was white. White walls, a white ceiling, and when he moved his head slightly to the right on a pillow that felt too soft to be real, he saw a lone table, coloured white and empty save for a goblet of water.

He didn't dwell on the thoughts pertaining to where he was, instead focusing on the goblet of clear liquid that his body seemed to crave. His lips were chapped, his tongue felt like rough paper. Eyeing the water, he imagined bringing the goblet to his lips. He was thirsty; so very thirsty. But when he tried to raise his arm, he found that he couldn't. Looking down, he saw a leather strap across his wrist. Panicking, he tried to move his other arm only to find a similar strap keeping him imprisoned. Draco let out a grunt as he gritted his teeth and tried to move his legs. But the straps across his ankles kept him immobile. He was held down by all four of his limbs, and his strength was such that he couldn't fight it. Draco struggled nonetheless, his hands fisting and his body twisting to try to free at least one hand or one leg.

Draco had given up for the moment, his head falling back on the pillow in defeat, when he had his first visitor.

Hermione Granger looked well rested and somewhat surprised by his appearance.

Draco's lips twisted into a sneer. "Disappointed that I didn't die, Granger?"

Her lips pursed in annoyance before she suddenly smiled radiantly at him. "Actually," Granger said in an irritatingly cheerful tone, "I came to see how you were." She strutted in calmly, pulled out her wand and conjured up a chair beside the bed he was securely strapped on before taking her seat and turning her full attention on him. "How are you?"

Scoffing, Draco stubbornly turned his head away from her so he could stare at the blank expanse of wall on the other side of the bed. Her irritated sigh made him feel infinitely better.

"Honestly, Malfoy, quit being so stubborn."

"Stubborn? I honestly don't know what you mean, Granger." His voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Oh? You don't know what stubborn means? Let's see. Wilful, inflexible, immovable… Idiotic," she said as an afterthought.

"You would know, Granger. You just listed your best qualities. Besides," he continued, "how can I be stubborn when I'm simply someone who is enjoying not having freedom? It's a pesky thing, I heard. Freedom to move."

He heard the way she let out a low breath, probably to keep her impatience in check, which only made his smile widen. "Why are you being so difficult?"

At this question, he turned back to face her with a glare already in place. "Why am I here?"

She looked at him seriously, her expression apologetic. "Your body went through too much trauma. We had to bring you somewhere you could be fully healed."

"St. Mungo's?" She nodded. "How long?"

"A week, maybe." Her smile was pained and sincere. "But, longer if you're willing to undergo the treatment again."

Draco simply blinked at her, unable to fully dissect everything that had happened. He remembered the pain vividly—it was hard not to—but his body felt stronger than it had been in months and his back didn't ache from a mattress that felt like it was stuffed with books. Was it worth it to go through so much pain just to live in comfort? Was it worth it to play with his mind using unsafe spells, potions and incantations just to get a few days of uninterrupted rest? And was it worth to give up a cell to be tied to a bed without much hope for movement? He needed time to think. But, he needed water first.

Granger followed his gaze only for her eyes to land on the goblet. Without a word, she picked it up easily and held it out to him. Draco eyed her suspiciously and lifted his head as far as he could. She placed the tip of the goblet to his lips and angled it carefully. Draco drank the cool liquid like he had been in the desert for months without water. It had been so long since he had drunk anything so pure. He had been convinced from the first day in Azkaban that clean water was a rare occurrence. Once the goblet was empty she placed it back on the table. Draco simply dropped his head once more onto the pillow and looked up at the white ceiling. He didn't thank her.

A moment of silence passed before she asked softly, "Do you remember anything?"

"Did it work, you mean."

From the corner of his eye he saw her shift in her seat. He wondered if it was nervousness or agitation. "Did it?"

Draco blinked up at the ceiling. Nothing felt new. Nothing felt out of the ordinary. "I remember everything that I always did."

"Nothing stands out?"

He turned to face her, his eyes studying her. "What could possibly stand out, Granger? The memory I have of being played like a worthless creature? The way I was blamed for things I had never done, the things I was forced to do, the poor sods who were tortured in front of me? Are they all things that shouldn't stand out?" Her expression made him pause. "What?" he asked, somewhat reluctantly.

She stared at him in surprise. "You never said anyone was tortured in front of you."

"Of course I did. Henry Fern from the Ministry of Magic. You-Know-Who was there, for Merlin's sake."

Granger's eyes brightened just a little bit as she said carefully, "When I asked you if you had ever seen anyone tortured in front of you, you said no."

He looked at her, remembering a piece of his past that he had wished he never had. "Only yours."

Granger looked away from him, her expression darkening. "I meant someone other than me."

"I remember."

"And you said no."

Draco simply stared at her. "I lied." He must have.

"No, you didn't." She sat up straighter, shaking herself out of whatever that had settled on her as a small smile formed on her lips. Draco knew that she was trying very hard to hide her excitement. "Before the procedure we collected every last memory you had of Voldemort."

He flinched. "I don't need a re-cap, Granger."

"I think you do." Her smile was wide now, too big to tame. "You had no memory of having a man tortured in front of you. Especially one Vol—" She stopped. "You-Know-Who," she said carefully, "presided over. This is new."

She rummaged through a small beaded bag that she had brought with her before successfully pulling out a clear vial. "You need to give me that memory. It could mean that this has worked." She stood up quickly with her wand in her hand as she looked at him expectantly.

Draco's jaw locked in stubbornness. He didn't like being tested on. He despised the thought that they might have stumbled on something that might have worked. He hated the fact that he was nothing more than an experiment to them.

Granger's gaze softened in understanding. "If this has worked, all of what you went through wouldn't have been for nothing. You would have gotten part of your memory back. Isn't that amazing?" She paused. "You don't have to do it again, not if you don't want to. But this memory could be useful to us, to you." She leaned slightly over him and placed the tip of her wand to his temple. "Please."

She was looking at him like that again; like she had invested all her hope in him and no one else. Draco realised that he was just as weak as he had always been when he closed his eyes and thought of that moment. When his eyes opened once again, he saw her close the vial and pocket it in her robes. What drew his attention the most was her smile. "Thank you."

Draco didn't smile back; he simply looked away from her and let his gaze rest on the brilliantly white ceiling.

He heard her sigh. "If you promise not to escape, I can try to get them to loosen your bindings."

Draco stopped himself from sighing in response. She didn't get it; none of them did. "Granger," he said finally, his head turning to face her. "I have nowhere to escape to."

Her smile dropped so suddenly that he had an unwelcome feeling in his chest. In a distant memory he remembered a cool cloth on his forehead and soft words coming from lips that looked an awful lot like hers.

Granger shifted from one foot to the other. "I'll see you tomorrow, Malfoy." Tucking a stray curl behind her ear, she ducked her head and left.

Draco watched her leave. Part of him thought that he wasn't responding well to the kindness she was showing him, while another, larger, part of him thought good riddance. The last thing he needed was someone being kind to him and causing him to accept the situation he was currently in. Kindness was making him weak. And weakness would not help him get through the next few years in Azkaban.

But that night, after he was spoon-fed soup and was given clean linens to sleep on, Draco remembered how he had made her smile mere moments before he fell into a dreamless sleep.


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

**.**

_The night was deceptively calm as Draco walked amongst the soft sands. The hardened earth under his feet was cracked, yet felt flaccid whenever he moved, grains of sand folding over itself so that his feet dipped with each step. The night was just as dark as before, with fewer stars decorating the sky. Before him rose the impressive rock, twisting and turning, morphing into a new shape, something he had never seen before._

_Previously it had been an impressive mountain, its face smooth and grand. Now it stood jagged over him, a rock with sharp angles protruding in all directions. It was changing and Draco knew that such a change wasn't for the better._

_The sudden sound of rushing water caused him to turn around, but all that was behind him was nothing. An emptiness wrapped in darkness, a hollowness that he recognised all too well._

_Then he looked down._

_The water came up through the cracks, quickly coating his ankles, his calves, his knees, and then his hips. Just as it reached Draco's waist, he felt the ground give way under him, as if he had been standing on solid ground all this time and he lost his footing, falling into the water, his head going under, deeper than he had ever been._

_His breath hitched as the water surrounded him, an invisible force pulling him deeper and deeper into the water as his lungs burned with the need to breathe. He raised both arms in an effort to hold onto something, to stop himself from being dragged down, but all he felt was water around him, elusive waves that pushed against his body from all sides._

_"This is not for the faint of heart, Draco."_

_There was still light above him, blurry through the water, and he tried to reach for it, struggling again and again while trying to get himself released. His father's voice was clear among the rippling water that surrounded him._

_"You are too young."_

_Then the light became darkness and there was nothing around him but silence._

* * *

><p>Hermione waited patiently as Harry lifted his head from the Pensieve. He frowned, his eyes tired, as he regarded the silvery memory carefully.<p>

"What do you think?" Hermione asked softly. She stayed seated on the chair on the visitor's side of Harry's desk, her upper body twisting as she tried to decipher what her best friend thought from his expression alone. "It's new, isn't it?"

Harry looked up at her in surprise, almost as if he had forgotten that she had been there the whole time. "It's definitely a new memory," he said slowly, his tone careful. "There are parts of it that are still hazy…"

"I think those are the parts that he can't remember. What happened is pretty clear, it's the details that he's not too sure about."

Harry nodded as he took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. Hermione stared at him with concern.

"Are you all right?"

He put on his glasses and nodded again, before making his way to his side of the large desk. "I'm just tired." He practically fell onto his chair, making Hermione feel even more concerned than before. "There was another disaster last night."

Hermione felt her back stiffen. "Where?" she asked softly.

"South Asia."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"There would have been nothing for you to do." The way he said that, his voice flat, as if all the hope had been drained from him, made Hermione's existing fears worsen. Harry saw her expression and confirmed her suspicions. "It was mostly saving the bodies, not the people."

Hermione's fingers flinched, her hand tightening around the arms of the chair she sat in. "What happened?"

At this question, Harry let out a light laugh, one devoid of humour but full of sadness. "A giant wave," he said with a flourish.

Hermione eyed him in confusion. "A giant wave? How is that possible?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. But this is getting out of hand. We need to know what's behind it. _If_ there is something behind it."

"I would think there wasn't, but…" She trailed off, her thoughts running quickly enough.

"But…?" Harry prompted her.

"The fact that Malfoy knows whenever these disasters hit must mean something."

"I'm almost positive it does. Which is why you need to go back and convince him to undergo the treatment again."

Hermione let out a surprised breath. "But, Harry, he's not ready. He's weak. The Healers said—"

"I don't care what the Healers said," Harry said, interrupting her easily. He gestured to the Pensieve that stood at the other end of his office. "This proves that what Ryer did actually worked. We need all of his memories. If he is somehow connected to what is happening in the world, we need to know how and why."

"We can't jeopardise his mind, Harry. You said it yourself; he could be the answer to all of this. If we don't approach this properly we could damage his mind and our one possible way to stop this thing."

"We can't wait," he said passionately.

"We _have_ to," Hermione stated just as stubbornly.

Harry shook his head, his shoulders slumping from fatigue. "There were more children than I had ever seen before, Hermione. Full families whose only crime was living where they lived."

Hermione felt the corners of her eyes prickle with tears but blinked them away quickly. "I know," she said thickly. "Which is why we can't afford to make a mistake." She sat up straighter, a small sniffle escaping her. "Let me talk to him. Let me try to convince him. We shouldn't do the treatment again so soon, but we should be ready to do it anyway. In the mean time, you can show the memory to Professor Ryer and ask him what he plans to do next."

"There is one other thing."

Hermione watched as Harry leaned back and opened the topmost drawer of his table. He shifted a few things before he pulled what looked to be a simple gold ring. Hermione took it from his outstretched palm in confusion. "What is this?"

He smiled. "Got the idea from you, actually. I put a Protean Charm on it, just like you taught me. Convinced Kingsley that we needed a faster way to get help whenever these disasters came up, and nothing was faster than this."

Hermione slipped it on her fourth finger of her right hand, which seemed to be the perfect fit. "Everyone got rings from you?" She teased him. "That must have caused quite the scandal."

Harry let out a small laugh. "You, me, Kingsley and Padma have the rings. We are the primary researchers who know about Draco's case, so if anything happens and if you want to talk to any of us, charm it and we will be where you are as soon as we can."

He then opened another drawer and pulled out a Galleon. Hermione's smile widened, as she instantly understood what her best friend had done.

"This is distributed more widely. Kingsley is the only person with the power to tell us the time and place of a disaster as soon as it occurs. This way we will know when we're needed. I don't need to explain to you how it works, I guess," Harry said with a touch of humour as he handed it to her. Hermione pocketed the Galleon carefully, making a mental note not to mistake it with the money she already had.

Harry's expression turned sombre. "I sincerely hope that we never get to use it."

Hermione let out a small sigh. "Why do I think that that is a lost hope?"

"Maybe because it is?" Harry shrugged lightly, his entire demeanour screaming negativity and acceptance. "When do you plan to go see Malfoy?"

"Maybe tomorrow." She paused, biting her lower lip in agitation. "I know that this is hard, but you do understand that we can't rush into this, right? If Malfoy is the key to the solution, we must be careful."

Harry nodded, a small, casual shrug escaping him as he said, "I understand."

Hermione eyed him suspiciously. She had known him for years. She never knew him to accept what she said so quickly on an issue they disagreed on, especially when someone's life was at stake. "Do you?" she asked cautiously.

"Of course," Harry said carefully, his voice slow. "You're right about this, Hermione. I know that."

* * *

><p><em>Forty-three, forty-four, forty-five…<em>

The door opened and someone entered his room. The Healer moved around a bit, collecting discarded plates and dishes, tidying up in an efficient way before she turned to face him.

_Forty-nine, fifty, fifty-one, fifty-two…_

"Feeling better?" she asked softly as a cool hand was placed on his forehead. "You're not burning up anymore."

_Fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight…_

She checked his bindings, swiftly tightening the leather around his ankles and wrists when she noticed how slack they had become.

She looked at him in confusion. "What are you doing?"

_Fifty-nine, sixty…_

"Counting," Draco said curtly. He kept his eyes trained on the ceiling, his lips softly moving to a count in his head. There were a series of square-shaped white tiles on the ceiling. After being bored for a few hours, he decided to entertain himself by counting how many squares can be added into a square. He had tried several times and lost the count half way though. If he was to be held prisoner, at least there was something to look forward to, a puzzle to be solved.

The Healer let out an exasperated sigh. He was probably one of the most stubborn patients they had to care for outside of the mental ward. It gave Draco a sense of pride to think that even after so many years he was still able to irritate wizards and witches alike.

"There's a visitor to see you."

Draco stopped mid-count to look at her. He immediately thought of the last time Granger had come to see him, the expression on her face as she leant over him and begged him for his memory. It had been two days since then.

He frowned. She said that she would ask his captors to loosen his straps.

Draco tried moving his arm and felt the leather chafe his wrist. "Did you have to tighten these?" he asked angrily as he gritted his teeth and squirmed against his bindings.

The Healer's lips pursed. "I think it's best. The last thing we need is for you to attack our distinguished guest."

Draco collapsed onto the pillow only to give the Healer the most condescending glare he could. "I don't think Hermione Granger would be unable to defend herself if I go at her wandless."

The Healer shook her head. "Ms Granger is not your visitor."

Draco's face scrunched up in confusion. "Then who—?"

"Malfoy."

Draco felt a chill travel up his spine, one that started with fear and end with anger. "Potter," he sneered, his eyes falling on his childhood nemesis. "Come to take me back to Azkaban?"

Potter eyed him warily before dismissing the Healer. Once she had left, sharing a polite smile with Potter that made Draco's eyes roll in disgust, he conjured up a chair and took his seat where Granger had sat a few days ago.

"We need to talk," Potter began, his tone pompous, as he sounded all-important.

Draco simply raised a mocking eyebrow at him as he waited.

Potter didn't look half as deterred as Draco had expected. "I'm sure you noticed that the treatment worked. But what we got wasn't enough."

"You want me to go through that again," Draco said softly, his voice devoid of any emotion.

Potter didn't hesitate. "Yes."

Draco blinked up at him before he leant back and let out a hearty laugh. "If you want to kill me so badly, a curse would be faster."

Potter scowled. "You're a git and a bully. You always have been. But I never wanted to kill you, Malfoy. If we could do this without hurting you, believe me, we would try." He leant closer. "As it is, people are dying and we are running out of time."

Draco chuckled. "Shove off, Potter. Hasn't it occurred to you that _maybe _what is happening has nothing to do with me? _Maybe_ the world is angry and it's taking out its anger on us, the innocent folks."

"This is different. Paris, Hong Kong, America, Thailand and Egypt. These are only some of the disaster-ridden countries. The Netherlands, Brazil, Russia…" Potter trailed off, his brows scrunching together suspiciously. "What is it?"

Draco schooled his features, realising too late that his thoughts had been freely playing on his face not a moment ago. He looked away as Potter's tone became urgent.

"You know something, Malfoy. What is it?"

There was a memory he could barely remember, blurred faces in a blurred room, but the voices were clear.

_"Wait for my signal."_

Draco shook his head, his mind becoming foggy with a memory he wasn't sure that he ever had before.

"Malfoy!" Potter called him harshly, a firm grip circling his shoulder and shaking him roughly. "Tell me, or I swear to all things magic—"

"What's the other place? There was another place, wasn't there?"

Potter eyed him apprehensively as he let go, his fingers flexing as if he was ready for a fight. "How do you know there was another place?"

He couldn't remember the memory exactly, but the knowledge was already in his mind even though he couldn't recall how he came about it. "Was it Nairobi?"

Potter's eyes narrowed. "Did you cause all this?" he asked harshly, his anger evident and his very behaviour enough to confirm Draco's suspicions. "Did you cause all those unnecessary deaths?"

Draco scoffed. "Use your brains, Potter. I've been locked up in Azkaban for more days than I can count. A bit difficult to control the elements from behind charmed bars while being wandless, don't you think?"

Potter glared at him. "You know something."

"I know many things," Draco said with a tone dripping in snark. "It would take years to even _try_ and impart the knowledge I know to _you_."

Potter didn't have an amused bone in his body. "I will send you back to Azkaban if I have to."

"You will send me anyway."

He paused, using a deep breath to control his anger. "What do you want?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"I want to see my mother," Draco said without any hesitation. All he had thought about was how worried she probably was. As much as he loathed showing any weakness in front of Potter, of all people, Draco couldn't help but crave some sort of affection. She was the only family he had. He couldn't lose her like he had lost his father.

Potter pursed his lips in thought, a frown marring his features as he thought about Draco's request for a moment. "Fine," he breathed out harshly. "But only if your information proves important."

Draco recognised that this was probably the best that he could get. He turned away from Potter, closing his eyes in an effort to remember.

"The Dark Lord had followers everywhere. He had groups of wizards who were prepared to attack and take over the world when the time came." Draco opened his eyes and turned towards Potter. "When he had killed _you_."

Potter's eyes brightened as if he had finally figured out a particularly hard puzzle. "These were the places?"

"The exact places."

"Were there any more?" Potter leant forward, his excitement hardly contained. "Were there any other places where Voldemort had his army?"

Draco winced. "A few more. They had to wait for his signal."

"Where else, Malfoy? Where else were they?"

Draco sighed. "I wish I could remember, but the leather is cutting into my skin and making me forget."

Potter let out a low breath, his green eyes sparking in anger. "This is not the time for games."

"I'm not playing," Draco said with a sneer. "If you want information, I will give it to you. But I want something in return." To prove his point further, he struggled against the bindings around his wrist.

With an angry expression, Potter pulled out his wand and charmed the bindings off the bed. Draco sat up immediately, a happy sigh falling from his lips as he rubbed at the sore skin around his wrist.

"Now, Malfoy. I don't have all day."

Draco's eyebrows scrunched in thought. "Australia, South Africa and Canada." He wasn't sure, exactly, but he was close enough. As he held Potter's attention, Draco entertained the idea of grabbing the man's wand, before dismissing it almost as quickly. He was still weak. He didn't have enough strength to get out of bed without assistance, let alone fight off Potter.

"Those are the next places, then." Potter stood up, his lips moving quickly as he mumbled to himself. "There are still Death Eaters out there; active Death Eaters. This was Voldemort's plan in case he failed."

Draco flinched, the sound of the name still raising the hairs at the back of his neck.

"If he couldn't win the world, no one could," Potter muttered to himself.

Malfoy shook his head as he continued to rub his skin gently. He didn't give a flying hippogriff's arse what Potter was on about.

With a flick of his wand, the chair disappeared, before Potter quickly made his way out of Draco's room.

"Potter!" Draco called after him without a single thought.

As Potter paused to look at him, Draco faltered.

"My mother…"

"I'll let her know you're here. She'll be able to visit you soon."

Draco barely nodded before Potter was out of the room. A Healer came in just after, shrieked when she realised he was out of his bindings, and charmed stronger leather straps to put him back where he was supposed to be. Promising that he wouldn't try to escape fell on deaf ears. The Healer tightened his bindings as an extra precaution.

Draco sighed as he leant back and got comfortable against the bedding. For a moment there he was about to ask Potter why Granger hadn't come to visit him. He could just imagine Potter's expression if he had asked him such a question.

How silly.

.


End file.
